Dragons of the Mojave (ABANDONED)
by Filthy Landlubber
Summary: A.N. - This story is over, and I doubt I'll ever work on it again. If you want to read something I'll update and finish, something which takes much from this fanfiction, check "No Gods, No Masters" on my profile.
1. Keram-Rei, the Battlemage

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:**

**I don't own either The Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim nor Fallout: New Vegas. They both belong to Bethesda Softworks, and no, I don't own that either. I also don't own any of the songs, games or movies which may or may not be quoted in this story, just to be clear, since they belong to **_**a lot**_** of people.**

**Yes, yes, yes, I've been away for a billion years and… I haven't done that much, really. I've changed the format, though, since I've been told chapters with an average of eighteen thousand words are pretty exhausting to read. So I split them up, gave them a look and kept writing just to have something to post.**

**I have to thank two people in particular: "doesthiscountasusername" for pretty much everything in the way of ideas, help, support, impressions about new chapters and all that stuff; "icewolfheartsmuffins" for having embraced the way of the beta and handling the tedious work of correcting grammatical mistakes, stylistic notes and giving me a deep analysis of what works and what doesn't in the story for the chapters' definitive release. I'd like to thank two other people who might not want to be mentioned, but who have set this story on the right tracks. Also, huge thanks go to my brother for the cover!**

**Anyway, this is a crossover I'm writing for fun and into which I'm pouring considerable effort and care. Don't really know if it shows, but hey, at least I'm having a good time. Hope you will, too. Older chapters may be subject to change for the aforementioned beta reasons.**

**Oh, and don't forget to tell me what you think about it, either via PM or review. Any ideas, suggestions, or criticism are **_**much**_** appreciated. I'll answer via PM as soon as I can.**

**Rated M for violence, language, and the possibility of adult themes.**

**Have fun!**

**P.S.: This disclaimer won't be repeated, I'll just leave it here in the first chapter. I suppose there's no need for me to write it and for you to read it each time, right?**

* * *

Blackreach was quiet, the dark stone of the endless grotto finally undisturbed, the Dwarven ruins finally left in the peace they deserved, and the grand fungi shining like multi-colored moons over the entirety of the cave. The automatons there rested forever, either recently destroyed or long deactivated. One might've said there was silence… except for a small spot, just outside the entrance to the Tower of Mzark. Those were the high crags above the lake of Blackreach.

An Argonian stood upon a boulder, his eyes scanning for enemies and his feathers raised. His light armor gleamed under the natural light, in contrast to his matte blade. The colors of his scales and feathers was nigh indistinguishable, warped as they were by the blue and purple light radiating from above and around him. He rotated his shoulders and grinned.

"Come on, Brelyna, move up!" Keram-Rei called as he slid down the small cliff, masterfully avoiding the largest rocks and jumping down on the last Falmer below him. Although blind, he had the funny impression the thing stared at him amidst his slaughtered brethren. He jammed his blade into the Snow Elf's open mouth, wrestling it free just a second later with a spurt of dark blood.

The corrupted creature was no match for him, especially after years of hard training and endless questing. During the last year or so of his life, however, raging battles, Dragon killing and Oblivion exploring had added to the mix.

All in all, the things were no more dangerous than bees, if the corpses sprawled before him were anything to go by. Some were charred, some dismembered, and one turned to a tiny pile of ash.

"Ah, there you go." Keram-Rei sighed out loud, sheathing his blade. "You have indeed missed all the fun."

The Dunmer mage carefully climbed down the steep path, but lost her footing near the end. He readily sprung forwards and caught her in his arms, and both remained completely still for a few moments. Then, he burst out laughing.

"What is it now?" Brelyna asked angrily. He could tell she actually wasn't. She never was with him.

"You aren't going to get used to this any time soon, are you?" Keram-Rei asked, letting her go and tilting her Malachite pauldron back into place.

"I've never done anything like this before, Keram, and I don't even know how I could find all this adventure business so fascinating back when I joined you." Brelyna ranted, and adjusted her gold circlet over her hair, now a complete mess of black tufts sticking up every which way. "The College of Winterhold, and all of Morrowind's magic schools I've ever attended to, has never made me step out into the wild. And let's not talk about fighting outlaws and creatures, much less exploring ancient ruins! _Or_ fight outlaws and creatures as I explore ancient ruins deep in the wilds, in this case."

"...Apart from Sarthaal." The Argonian replied with a smile. "That was quite an adventure, was it?"

"Please, _you_ got to venture in and battle Draugr." The Dunmer grunted. "I deciphered runes all day… and no matter what you say, I still found it to be-"

"-Far more boring than this." Keram-Rei interrupted. He grinned and spread his arms to make her look at the incredible cave behind him. "Come on, you know how much I like reading and studying myself, but would you ever choose a life locked away behind books and scrolls over a single day of _this_?"

"I'm seriously starting to reconsider the first option." She muttered, shaking her head. "If only you didn't drag me through monster-infested caves and bandit coves…"

"But this place is beautiful, isn't it?" He retorted, still not completely serious. "Apart from blind, corrupted, and evil Snow Elves that want to take over the surface. That was implied."

"Alright, you win… stupid spellsword." Brelyna smiled, and then pressed her soft, dark lips over his scaly ones in a passionate moment. How had he gotten used to that warm feeling, to her smooth skin, to her silky hair… he didn't know. The sheer idea of kissing her had been a dream until what? A month ago? And now there he was.

Things had changed pretty quickly over the last few weeks, eh?

After breaking the kiss, her smile broadened. "Beautiful."

Keram-Rei ignored her gold circlet and ruffled her black hair even more, earning one of her childish giggles. Then, he turned to have another look at the breathtaking view that was Blackreach. He sighed, taking in everything like the first time.

Gigantic and gleaming the mushrooms cast their blue and purple light over the entire cave, towering over even the largest Dwemer ruins. Some, the most massive ones, even went as far as to grow through and around them. The mighty metal and stone were of little concern to their colossal roots.

The lake below, its waters a mesmerizing crystal blue, sparkled under the natural light of the enormous fungi. The faint shimmers of Red Nirnroots barely reached them from this high up. The ancient roads and buildings had survived surprisingly well throughout the millennia, and he thought the fact that even the most severely damaged ones hadn't crumbled to dust to be simply outstanding.

Keram-Rei's gaze followed all of it: cracked stones, dented metal, dusty towers, crumbling fortresses, and all the way to the black stone they walked upon… then, he looked back at her. She was just as enraptured as he was the first time he'd opened the large doors that led into this hidden gem. Unknown, encrusted deep into the earth, hidden away from prying eyes. He had to admit, it wasn't so dissimilar from her. Beautiful and yet unseen by everyone.

He could say he had a good eye for this sort of things.

The Argonian remembered why he'd taken her here in the first place. And so he cleared his throat, gaining her attention. This would've been pretty easy, if he played it right. It was just a matter of… finding the right words. "As to why I've brought you here…"

Brelyna nodded, focusing back on him while sweeping a tuft of hair away from her eyes. Yes, good start. "Oh, right, right. Is there anything we need to fight? Artifacts ready to be recovered? Lost knowledge to bring back into the light? Or all of them at once, perhaps?"

"No, something far more important." He responded, clenching both hands tightly. He felt the metal hidden in the gauntlet and in an instant the leather over his palms was replaced by two small metal shapes. One was held in his left hand, the other in the right. Nervous, he felt too damn nervous, but he had to mask his nervousness. He had to relax, he had to think of it as just another fight – calm down. It was damn near impossible, but he tried. "Our lives will depend on this, Brelyna."

"You've never said anything like that before." She stammered as she nodded again. "You're scaring me, you've never been this serious before. W-what is it?"

Now or never.

Keram-Rei drew a deep breath, then knelt before her. A master-crafted gold ring sat on his right palm. It was finely decorated, with floral etchings dancing across its whole surface to symbolize the lively and blossoming new times to come. And at the front, a sapphire and a ruby had been carved to form two roses, their stems intertwined and representing the eternal bond between the two souls.

"Will you marry me?"

Brelyna gasped, covering her mouth with both hands. A muffled shriek of surprise escaped her lips, her watery eyes darting between his face and ring. She ran a hand through her long, ebony hair, chuckling in amazed nervousness as she did. He couldn't help but smile at it – it had worked! "By Azura, Keram, I don't know what to say…" The Dunmer whispered, pure emotion dripping from her voice. "I… I… of course I will! Yes!"

She hugged him tight, and his smile seemed to widen even more as he wrapped his arms around her. _She said yes!_ It was the only thing he managed to think, laughing joyously with her. _Yes, yes, yes!_

Keram-Rei looked into Brelyna's eyes and kissed her, more ardently than he'd ever done so before. And he felt all the smoothness of her hair and skin under his fingers, the sheer _beauty_ she seemed to radiate whenever he saw her, her hips, and what would've awaited him when the night would come.

And he savored it, he savored every instant of what he could only describe as the best moment of his life. Nothing else could cloud his mind right now, absolutely nothing at all.

She moved back slightly, still beaming. "This is the best day of my life, Keram!"

He smiled back, when a clawed hand clutched at his pauldron and someone behind him breathed out a raspy sigh. "Time's up, Keram-Rei. Get out of bed."

* * *

Keram-Rei woke with a start in his bedroll, groaning, as he was instantly blinded by Blackreach's blue light. _Fuck, not again. _He thought, growling in annoyance. _I'm going to build up the courage and tell her what I feel, someday. Definitely not today though._ The Argonian quickly added, getting to his feet and scratching his feathers as he avoided one of the dozens of runes cast clockwise around his bedroll. He just needed to… think about the right words. The right words were hard to find.

Needless to say: he woke up alone.

That was him. That was the mighty Dragonborn, the savior of Nirn, the slayer of Alduin and all that. Sure, he'd done those things. He'd slain Lord Harkon and Miraak, he'd fought and stopped the Stormcloak Rebellion to bring peace to the Empire. He was relentless when there was an enemy to fight, ruthless against dark mages and necromancers, unforgiving towards Daedric cultists. A warrior, a soldier, a Dawnguard, a paladin, a hero – and he still couldn't approach a female. That was… certainly not fine, but 'accepted' by him. The farthest he'd gone with one had been a few exchanged words (about _war and magic_, of all things), a little imagination and an aching wrist afterwards. So much for the Dragonborn.

He was probably the most famous loser of all Tamriel, come to think of it.

The Dragonborn shooed those thoughts away, rolled up the heavy pelt he'd slept on and fitted it into his enchanted satchel, where he put most of his belongings. Apart from his mansion near Falkreath, of course, since it just wouldn't fit.

And he'd tried.

He sighed. He'd had to rebuild it again. The sheer thought of the work he'd had to face still gave him nightmares. Oh, and Falkreath's inhabitants always sneaking near the smoldering ruins in groups of five… no, it was just a change of style, yes. He just didn't like the first house, which was the perfect explanation for a purple mushroom cloud in the middle of the night.

_Yes, and I'm Titus Mede II. You couldn't have possibly come up with anything worse._

He shook his head with just enough force to tear it off his shoulders. _We're off to a bad start already._

Anything else, however: armors, blades, robes, hammers, gems, gold… all perfectly fine for the satchel. He simply had to put a hand inside, use a spell to visualize what he carried with him and subsequently think about the item he desired to make it appear in his hands. It couldn't create anything from scratch, but it was infinitely better than backpacks and countless pouches. The only downside was that the whole process took nearly five seconds, so he had to leave his Dragonbone broadsword on his hip if problems arose.

Keram-Rei didn't mind though, since he considered it a pretty terrific sight when paired with his Stalhrim light armor. And to think it had been worn by the infamous pirate Deathbrand himself. _Crazy, bloodthirsty asshole._ He growled mentally, unpleasant memories replaying in his mind. Finding it had been a pain in the ass - _literally_, thanks to that damned Reaver archer. It had sure been worth it in the end though.

Just… not for the archer.

The armor itself was simply _perfect_. It was light, it kept him warm in the glaciers and kept him cool in the marshes. It was enchanted to increase his strength and endurance, and to make it so that his strikes were faster and deadlier. It almost felt as though it weren't there, and yet it hadn't bent in the slightest under a troll's fist. His blade, white and hooked along the edges, felt much heavier than any other sword he'd ever wielded, but it was surprisingly balanced in his hand. The mighty Dragonbone, however, allowed him to cut through his foes like butter – be them bandits, Storm Atronachs or Dragons themselves.

Keram-Rei walked up to the lake and washed his face with the ice-cold water, then looked at his reflection. A sleepy Argonian battlemage looked back at him, sapphire blue eyes surrounded by emerald green scales, the spiked brows crowning them creased from sleep. Crimson feathers grew between them, spreading across his forehead and then back to the nape of his neck, where his two horns protruded.

His mouth was opened in a yawn. More bone spikes on his jaw and chin acted as a sort of beard, but they were never as sharp or white as his fangs. Some idiots could've mistaken him for a vampire, but he'd always reminded them his scales wouldn't have been as bright or nice as they were now. His teeth would've also surely come out of his mouth. Not to mention the fact his eyes were an electric blue, not a ghastly, almost blank bright red. _But that didn't prevent that Dawnguard rookie from pinning my tail to a wall. _He narrowed his eyes in frustration. _Good thing Isran got between me and the boy in time._

Now that he gave it a better look, he noticed he hadn't even bothered to take his armor off to sleep.

_Again._

He grunted, stretching a little to ready his muscles. Keram-Rei needed to be prepared for anything. He wasn't as bulky as a berserker, nor was he as wiry as a mage: he was a battlemage. He was athletic, as fast as a viper when he struck with his blade, as merciless as a storm when he cast his spells upon the enemy. And it required a little exercise every day, in order to avoid muscle tears during a fight. Brutes were always fighting, so it was pretty pointless, and mages just didn't need physical might. But then again, he was a battlemage. He combined both's strengths and weaknesses. And, in his own words, the first's good looks with the second's brains.

Some of his friends told him he'd gotten that mixed up. It had all been started by his sister.

_Nah. I wouldn't have set my eyes on you two if you looked ugly, and you know it._

He ignored him. Right now, none of that mattered. He was just a sleepy Argonian, and it was going to be like that for about... fifteen minutes, possibly twenty. _No, I can't waste all this time, I need to move now._ The battlemage thought, taking a few steps back. _If I want to be quick and explore the place again, I have to do it now._

Every time his feet moved back, Keram-Rei knew he would've regretted it terribly, he just knew it, but there wasn't any other way to get ready in time. So, he pointlessly drew in a deep breath… that nonetheless aided him in preparing for it.

_This is going to be fun!_

He dove into the lake.

The icy water immediately barreled its way through the Stalhrim plates and the leather suit. It mercilessly and relentlessly stabbed at each of his nerves, and his eyes instantly snapped open. His gills immediately started working, filtering oxygen from the water as his lungs sealed. Once he'd overcome the initial shock and he'd sworn at his stupidity in Jel, Dovahzul, Common Tamrielic and what little he knew of Dremorazek, Keram-Rei slowly swam back to shore. There, he quickly used an Alteration spell to get dry again. It didn't prevent him from shivering, however.

Now the Dragonborn truly was ready for battle and perhaps for a few minutes, a little less… _manly_. He gritted his teeth, focusing to ready a fireball in his left hand and holding his broadsword in the right.

Ready to go.

_Wait – something's wrong. Can you feel it?_

Keram-Rei halted before moving even a single step, scanning the ruins surrounding him in surprise. He'd been to Blackreach a thousand times, and had explored every single pebble that sat there. Only, now he could tell something was off. He couldn't quite wrap his mind around it, but there was definitely something strange, something… _new_ about the place. Or maybe, something which had only decided to reveal itself now.

At first, he'd just come down to collect some Red Nirnroot for potions and slay a couple of Falmer for the sake of it, but now that he'd noticed the disturbance, he couldn't think about anything else. Now he couldn't have left without finding it, that much was sure. He looked around, but a strange surge of energy made his head snap towards the ancient fortress, perched upon the highest cliff and overlooking the entirety of Blackreach with its massive walls and its guard towers.

_There._

It came from somewhere near the orange, glowing… orb hanging from the cave's ceiling. Surprisingly, it was the one with which he'd inadvertently summoned Vulthuyrol. _How did an Ancient Dragon get here in the first place, anyway?_ He reflected a couple of minutes later, frowning as he passed the Dragon's carcass and entered the Dwarven fortress's courtyard.

The occasional rotting Falmer lay on the cracked ground, along with the corpses of several other people driven to insanity. He hadn't wanted to kill them, but there had been no other way. Their madness couldn't have been healed.

Keram-Rei sighed, murmuring a prayer to the Divines for their souls and stopping at the center of the yard: right below the shining orb. It hung from the ceiling, its glowing orange core surrounded by a dark metal 'cage', unreachable from any point of the ruin.

Whatever energy had been calling out to him was now at its peak, stronger than before, drawing him to it like a moth drawn to a flame. He scratched his chin. _A moth…_ He glanced up, raising a brow.

Keram-Rei groaned, and began to walk away. He shook his head and raised his hands in surrender, huffing in annoyance as he followed his steps back. _I don't have wings, I don't know what might happen, and it's incredibly stupid. Besides, I can't get up there anyway._

He stopped abruptly, turning towards the orb. _Well, I might as well try doing the opposite._ He thought, a sinister chuckle escaping from his mouth. _If _I _can't get up there…_

Keram-Rei closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath. He felt raw, unbound power playing and dancing across his throat, crawling up his tongue to climb up his teeth and lips. A power as ancient and dreaded as the one Dragons wielded, granted to mortal kind by intercession of Kynareth – to him, by the will of Akatosh himself.

"_FUS RO DAH!_"

The words that left his mouth did not belong to his body, he knew it well. They were the rumble of thunder, the roar of the sea, the quake of the earth. It was pure _force_ given the form of voice.

Unsurprisingly, the orb's chain creaked and shattered at his words. It fell to the ground and dug a crater as it showered sparks all around and onto him. It had hit the exact spot where he'd been standing moments before. But then, after an endless moment of silence, it stirred and…

Opened?

It hissed and spat steam, clouding the view, but he saw it clearly split apart, the two identical halves falling at opposite ends before turning to ash. A sudden gust of air dispersed the smoldering ashes, but a small, shining steel device had been left behind. A truly unusual and out of place thing to find in a Dwarven ruin.

A_ lever._

Keram-Rei raised a brow in suspicion. Despite its recent fall, it looked like it had always been rooted into the ground, connected deeply into Gods-knew what sort of machinery. Its new, gleaming steel was in stark contrast with the dark, ancient surroundings. The battlemage narrowed his eyes on it, unsure. _Should I go and pull it? _He thought and bit his lip in doubt. _Or should I get out of here as fast as I can?_

Keram-Rei shook his head. "What could possibly go wrong?" He muttered with a shrug, knowing full well that hundreds of adventurers had died speaking those very same words scant moments before their untimely demises. He wasn't going to be one of them, though. They hadn't been prepared, he was. The Dragonborn was a mix of any and all heroes he'd heard of in his youth. Although, unlike them, he wasn't a stupid brute, nor an overly-cautious genius. He could think, he could use both magic and swords, and he was an impulsive idiot.

'_What could possibly go wrong?' Bah, do you even listen to yourself?_

He drew another deep breath, cracked his knuckles, and pulled it.

He immediately unsheathed his sword and rolled sideways. He swiftly took cover behind a nearby rock, while hissing defiantly at whatever creature might've come out of the fortress around him. Possibly a strange beast from a hidden trapdoor in one of the towers, or a gargantuan worm from the underground. Maybe an army of Animunculi from the outside, or… or whatever trap was waiting to spring. _Any second now. Any second… come on…_

But nothing, absolutely nothing happened for a whole minute, just the sensation of being an idiot washing over him. He sheathed his sword, resigned, and a little bit embarrassed. _At least there was nobody looking._ The Dragonborn thought as a little thump told him the blade was firmly in place. He brushed a little dust from his feathers and gave his tail a scratch._ Yeah, strange feeling my ass. Good job._

_Hey, it's not my fault if – hold on, look._

There was a spark.

It was blue, small, and yet almost blinding in its power as it slithered in the dirt. It rolled and trickled along the ground like a very slow lightning bolt, and it wasn't long before it climbed up his foot. The spark spread a warm, unknown and yet… _soothing_ feel all over his body as it crawled up his leg. A pleasant, tingling sensation hit him when it danced across his torso moments before hovering a few breaths from his snout, all this without making the slightest sound. After several heartbeats it vanished in a flash of blazing energy.

Keram-Rei blinked the spots out of his eyes, arching a brow in bewilderment. _That's… it?_

Just as he thought this, an incredibly powerful bought of drowsiness overtook him. He silently cursed his own carelessness, as he fell to the ground, fast asleep.

Against his rather foolish expectations, something _had_ gone wrong. Nothing unusual there.

He heard a grunt. "You're an idiot. It's going to be dreamless, too."


	2. The Vault

Dreamless sleep. Just a pitch black, instantaneous transition between Blackreach and here.

Opening his eyes, puzzled and sleepy, Keram-Rei abruptly jumped to his feet. This wasn't good, this wasn't where he'd fallen asleep. He didn't panic – he just focused on the main problem.

_Where the fuck am I?!_

_Hey, don't ask me. This place feels strange._

The darkness surrounding him was just as heavy as his breath while he got hold of his sword. He waved his blade around knowing his blindness made it fairly pointless, but it did offer him some small comfort. When nothing pounced on him, he held up his left hand and a ball of light hovered to the roof. The orb revealed a completely metallic room: dull, gray, odorless, and shining. There was absolutely nothing remarkable about it, nothing stood out. It perfectly reflected the bright blue light which shone on walls, floor and ceiling alike. There was only a minuscule problem, apart from the change of scenery.

He hadn't cast any spell.

The Dragonborn pointed the tip of his sword at the throat of the female Argonian before him, his fangs bared at her. "Where am I?" He growled softly, trying to analyze her appearance, but the spell was nearly blinding now. He could see… red scales, dark robes, and a hint of horns. Could she have anything to do with this?

"I was trying to figure that out myself." She replied with a hint of superiority he instantly disliked. Her red eyes were narrowed on him as she lowered the light's intensity, sparkling with curiosity and sizing him up from head to toe. "I'm sure you are just as puzzled as I am. I can understand that. What I cannot understand, however, is why you are pointing your weapon at me." She nodded at the blade ever-so-slightly. "So, if you would be so kind as to take your blade away from my throat…"

Keram-Rei stood still in doubt, but he ultimately sheathed his broadsword and set his gaze on her. She wore the robes of an Archmage, dark gray and delicately trimmed with white fur. Satchels, bags, and various horns hung from her hips, and it was quite impressive how they weren't helplessly entangled with each other. She had an intricately designed staff in her hand, unlike any he'd ever seen. It was carved from black wood, gnarled and obviously ancient - but extremely refined and polished at the same time. The staff was covered in glowing runes, with colored crystals set at its tip and bottom.

With one last huff of annoyance, she'd taken off her hood revealing soft, delicate features. Small, ram-like horns grew at the sides of her head, with brown feathers in between. There were no spikes whatsoever on her face. She was almost as tall as him, but elegantly slender with graceful movements, like he'd always imagined a true mage. Not the scrawny men and women he was now used to talking to. Only, those rarely rolled their eyes as annoyingly as she did.

And he couldn't deny she was fairly attractive when she did it, too.

_Come on, dark room, you're alone. Tear her clothes off while she isn't watching. Maybe she'll like it._

Keram-Rei shook his head and grimaced. What was wrong with him today?

There were other, far more important things to focus on. Now that he thought about it, the robes were identical to those he'd been given by the College of Winterhold, when he himself had become Archmage. The trim, the fabric, the decorations themselves…

After a moment's reflection, he just shook his head. It was nothing, the very moment he'd received the Archmage robes he had sold them to the first trader of magical items. He'd never liked robes. No real protection, and they always got in the way. They looked good on her, too. _I wonder how she's found them…_

_They're made specifically for a female, dumbass. I don't like this._

"Keram-Rei, honored to meet you." He introduced himself with a bow. As long as it didn't go past that, he was fine. "I'm sorry, waking up in a metal room with another person was… shocking, to say the least. If I may ask, what's your name, milady?"

She examined his every move with that unnerving curiosity, then cleared her throat. "My name is Screaming-Eagle. And do _not_ call me 'milady'." She narrowed her eyes. "I hate it."

Keram-Rei chuckled and nodded slightly. He had the funny little feeling she was just as socially awkward as him. "Glad to drop the fanfare, Screaming-Eagle. Nice to meet you."

Screaming-Eagle muttered something about males and stupid grins, then turned to examine the cold walls all around them. Now that he looked at them, he noticed it was a tiny room, more of a cell than anything, but longer than usual. The fact that, of all the possible people, a female Argonian had ended up in there surely didn't help. Especially with said Argonian being as nice as she was, and having such a well-proportioned… backside.

And the burning sensation he felt in his chest wasn't comforting, either. Strangely enough, he'd already felt it, but... he knew it was tied to something he'd done in the last two years, he was sure of it, but he couldn't figure out _what_…

"How does this all feel to you?" He tried asking. _As long as I keep to business and immediate questions, maybe I'll have a chance._

"Strange, and unlikely." She said through gritted teeth. Quite the brusque answer.

He scowled at her back. "Why so edgy?"

She didn't even turn around, she only snorted. "None of your business."

_She's falling into your arms, I can tell._

"Oh, come on, really?" Keram-Rei ranted in disbelief at both. "I just asked a question about you, not to show me your-"

"Don't speak any further." Screaming-Eagle silenced him, her eyes darting all around and ultimately fixing right into his. "Can you hear it? _No?_ Then don't speak. Hush. Quiet."

Before he could comment, a mechanism hissed right in front of them, and she quickly undid the light orb. Screaming-Eagle moved to his side, her staff glowing faintly in her hands. The Dragonborn held his broadsword at the ready, knowing that hissing steam never meant anything good. They were in a Dwarven ruin, after all…

Or were they? Now that he thought about it, the Dwemer never used steel to build anything, only chiseled stone and their bronze-like alloy.

Perhaps it was a location where the Dwemer had found vast reserves of iron and could produce steel better and more efficiently. But no, it didn't add up. Dwarven buildings, even when abandoned for four thousand years, were covered in decorations, etchings and bas-reliefs. This place was bare.

_At least you're starting to think, idiot._

A door slid up away from the floor, letting orange flickering lights and a piercing noise flood the cell through a thick mist. In the blink of an eye, a dozen towering men in black armor rushed inside with the stomping of heavy boots on the ground and the whir of machines, pointing what looked like dark staves at them. Except, they weren't staves. These things were hollow like the blow-guns of the Imga. And by the way these people pointed them, they reminded him of heavily-customized crossbows, especially with the grip and...

He sighed.

Trigger.

He wasn't too interested in seeing how far he could push his armor.

They made very little sense to him – especially how he couldn't see any bolts or mechanism – so he moved on to analyzing their armors. Black and dark blue, visibly identical, heavy plated with menacing helmets, and screened _glass_ eye slits.

They looked bulky, mostly made of edges meant to deflect arrows and blows, and surely taller than either him or Screaming-Eagle. Seven feet easily. Tubes and a vent were connected to their heads, plus a strange, circular glass panel above their foreheads... and countless more useless appendages and trinkets of all shapes and forms.

Or useless to him, at least. He didn't know what sort of threat they posed, but it had to be fairly high. The armours were dotted with pouches and bags, pineapple-like things and sleek cases… all topped with a curious device on their wrists. It glowed green, with various knobs and buttons on it.

How in Oblivion did those things _glow_?

One of them stomped his foot on the ground to have their attention. He stood out amongst the others - surely their captain, with his completely matte black armor (save for the yellow '24' on his chest) and a larger weapon than the others. A vaguely triangular box fixed underneath it, connected to the strange instrument by a thin belt with small brass-like bolts fitted inside. It didn't take a genius to figure out these weapons could shoot, and quickly, judging by the loading system. They looked too advanced for Nirn, and too utilitarian and blocky to be made by Daedric hands.

_Where in Oblivion are we? _Keram-Rei repeated to himself, grimacing as he looked at the guards. The only thing common to all of them was the large '24' painted on their chest plates, maybe to signal their Legion, or unit, or… or whatever their assigned post was.

_You've already asked._

They surely weren't Dwemer, no. Even with these massive armors. If the First Era books he'd read were right, they were a little too short to be Dwemer. Khajiiti and Argonians were ruled out. Elves always had a nifty way to hide their ears into their armors – which were much more decorated than these. Orcs would have left the helmets open, to either see and feel the bloodshed… or keep their tusks on.

These were humans.

"Welcome to Vault 24!" A shrill voice piped up from behind the armored men. A short woman pushed aside two of the guards and entered the room. She looked like an Imperial in her mid fifties, with blonde hair and a cold, blatantly fake smile plastered across her face. Some sort of glass lenses held by a black, thin frame were pulled over her dull blue eyes. She might have looked nice at one point in her life. A gray dress of an unknown fabric but of far too short length fell to barely under her knee. Only black leggings covered her legs down to black, polished shoes.

Why was she wearing that? Nothing to do with decency - more with sanity. Keram-Rei narrowed his eyes on her obnoxious face. The cell was cold, and yet there she was, smiling and greeting with those clothes. He saw there was a strange vest over her chest, dark and covered in straps. It was thick and heavy-looking, some sort of… cloth chestplate.

_Wait._

_Cloth_ chestplate?!Who would even consider using something _that_ useless?

He didn't know about Screaming-Eagle, but he was feeling very skeptical towards anything this woman wanted to tell them.

"We have been waiting for you for centuries, and finally our waiting is over!" The woman continued, causing him to grimace. Her voice was grating enough to poke a hole through his brains. "And to be rewarded with the presence of not only one, but _two_ of you! My predecessors at Vault-Tec have given me very specific instructions on how to treat two important guests such as-"

"Prisoners." Keram-Rei muttered through gritted teeth and narrowed eyes. He cleared his throat at her quizzical look. "Not 'guests', prisoners."

"What?" The short human yelped, and he noticed her fake smile was starting to fade. Her little speech had been shattered by just one unplanned interruption.

_Oh, you've got to love politicians. You break their little speech, and they stop working._

"You heard him." Screaming-Eagle picked up, still studying their captors with her eyes as if trying to catch every possible detail. "We aren't foolish, you probably intended to incapacitate us or knock us unconscious in case we chose not to follow your orders willingly. And then what would have awaited us? Experiments? Torture? Tests? Death, even?" She smirked. "No, two bodies would be far less useful than two living subjects, any scholar knows that."

"No, no, I don't know what you're talking about!" The woman squeaked in an entirely different tone, rage making its way over her pristine face. "Vault-Tec has never intended to-"

"Yes, definitely experiments, not interested in what other lies you have to spit." Keram-Rei interrupted once again, grinning just obnoxiously enough to drive his point home.

"You dare?" The woman screamed, clenching her fists on her sides, her face going a nice shade of red. "_You dare_?!"

"Calm down, and simply let us go." Screaming-Eagle sighed with a shake of his head. "We mean you no harm, just…"

Keram-Rei lost interest in the exchange. He took a step forward and fiddled with one of the men's curious weapons. "How does this weapon work?"

"Want me to show you, lizard?" The guard blurted out, a hint of malice in his voice. "Look into the barrel, I'll show you."

_You aren't _that_ stupid. Wait, are you?_

"Oh, I'll find it out by myself." He finally replied, smiling. "Don't you worry."

He grabbed his Dragonbone sword more comfortably and rammed it into the man's chestplate. The blade almost got caught into the unknown material, but he wrenched it free of the ribs and metal. His victim fell to the ground between gurgles as a pool of blood formed beneath his corpse. The clang was deafening – just how _heavy_ was that armor?

Behind him, he heard and felt Screaming-Eagle's magic crackle like lightning, and so he instinctively rolled backwards, ending up right at her side.

It was then that he noticed something.

Normally, he didn't really pay any mind to the aura of Magicka around Nirn. It was always there, and it would've always been, so there was no reason for him to think about it too much. There were thousands, if not tens of thousands of true mages. Many more could only cast the most basic of spells, and almost the entirety of Nirn had that little well of Magicka deep inside of them. It flowed through the air from the stars and, as such, every magical individual drew power from the immense reserve of Magicka all around them.

Now, though, there wasn't – and had never been – any mage besides him and Screaming-Eagle. And if there _were_ mages, they were so few and far between that he couldn't feel them even if they stood right in front of him. The Magicka aura of… wherever they were was pure, untainted.

_Ugh… want me to break it down for you? This means spells work better. What kind of mage are you, exactly?_

"Keram-Rei?" Screaming-Eagle deadpanned to his right.

Keram-Rei turned towards her with his best dumb grin. "Yes, Screaming-Eagle?"

"You're the biggest idiot I've ever met." She growled.

"OPEN FIRE!" Their captain roared with an echoing voice, and all his men pulled the trigger at once.

It was as if time had stopped flowing, just so the two could admire the scene.

The guards' weapons blazed with the roar of thunder. They fired dozens and dozens of small projectiles every second, the two Argonians in their sights. Some, the slowest, sprayed pellets in a wide array, others thundered and fired a continuous and literal rain of metal towards them. Some bolts looked smaller, others larger, but the difference was barely noticeable.

More of the devices shot pure waves of red light, burning hot, with the promise of reducing their targets to a cinder, while one appeared to spit glowing green goo at them. The captain's own weapon kept firing on and on, the belt on its side feeding it with more of the strange projectiles, far smaller and faster than any normal bolts.

Then, in the span of fifteen seconds, it was all over. The empty shells and their boxy containers lay on the ground, hundreds, perhaps thousands of them littering the metal floor along with the corpse of that unnamed guard, left bleeding and forgotten.

But not theirs.

Screaming-Eagle thumped her staff on the ground, and her azure barrier faded. More than a thousand incandescent projectiles hit the ground simultaneously, clanging at the contact with the floor below. Minute trails of smoke rose and twirled from each red-hot, squashed piece of metal.

What sort of spell could do something like that? Sure, he knew some shielding spells against magic, but… these things didn't have one bit of magic in them.

_I can't believe it, a… a physical barrier? It's been so long since I've seen someone use that!_

The Dragonborn gave a look to Screaming-Eagle, who nodded briefly in response, and he turned back to the paralyzed men in black armor. He gave them a spine-chilling smile, careful to bare every single one of his razor-sharp fangs. He barely reached their shoulders, but oh if it felt good to scare them.

"Lovely." He growled, tilting his head in curiosity like an hellspawned beast. Three or four men shuddered visibly. "Our turn now."

Keram-Rei closed his hand as he focused on the heat of Magnus and the veins in his arms grew warmer and warmer, then opened his palm towards one of his targets. His firebolt hit a guard square in the chest, melting straight through armor and flesh as the man fell face-down without uttering one sound. Everyone froze in horror, staring at their fallen comrade as they clutched their weapons tighter.

Yes, awful with females - but in a fight? Not so much.

With a snort of either contempt or amusement, Screaming-Eagle tilted her staff and clenched her fist, another human screaming as his armor started bending and crumbling. Accompanied by the snapping of his bones and the rending of his flesh for one endless minute, his clunky and seemingly indestructible protection proved to be nothing more than wet paper to her magic. He'd seen far worse, but… those screams, and the blood… it was disturbing. He wasn't going to forget it any time soon.

Blood filtered through the crushed ball that was now the soldier's corpse, a harrowing display of meat and metal fused together. A pool of the guard's blood spread rapidly beneath him.

Keram-Rei charged and bellowed a furious battlecry, aiming for the weak neck joint and beheading one of his captors. His thoughts drifted to the snow-capped peak of High Hrothgar, and he slammed an ice shiv through another's eye slit. While Screaming-Eagle reduced two more of them to smoldering ash with bolts of lightning, their suits of armor remained miraculously standing, then crashed to the ground and _dented_ the floor.

_To the left, idiot!_

One of the guards tried engaging him with a glorified knife, which the Dragonbone blade broke in half as the man attempted to block the first strike, the second one splitting his helmet and frail skull in half. This time, his blade was stuck. No matter how hard he pulled, it just didn't want to get out.

Another guard overcame the shock and brought up his own weapon and aimed it at Keram-Rei's head. He swallowed, and couldn't help but look down into the black tube. Everything seemed to slow down. Even faced with imminent death, his brain made him notice how smooth that part of the weapon was. Underneath it was the grip, which the guard pulled back with an ominous _clack_. A small, black cylinder flew out from a side of the gun. There was a… word there, in white letters, probably a name: _Remington_.

The guard gripped the weapon tighter and, before Keram-Rei could move, it…

Fell.

The black armor began convulsing wildly, with joints, plates and _bones_ audibly cracking inside the armor. A scream of surprise and pure agony came from the helmet. It went on for a few seconds, until his head turned backwards and the neck snapped with a sickening sound.

The Dragonborn freed his weapon and nodded his shocked thanks to Screaming-Eagle, who was holding her staff sidelong in both hands.

Then a troll rammed into him.

His sword flew out of his hands as he slammed against the nearest wall, pinned down by another wall – matte black, with a hint of yellow. A large, powerful hand grabbed his neck with a grunt of effort, and he felt his windpipe slowly being crushed under the immense pressure. No mortal could summon that sort of strength, and yet…

He was going to die soon, so he looked into the mirrored eye slits, back into his blue eyes, and grinned weakly. He was going to _die_, he felt his essence slowly fading away… and focused exactly on that. There was still a little breath in him.

"_Fe… Feim Zii Gron._" He whispered.

Keram-Rei fell down to his knees, and took a few seconds to breathe again and massage his aching throat. That fucker was _strong_, he had to give him that. He cracked his neck to set his vertebrae back into place, jumped to his feet and took his sword back to sheathe it. His opponent turned around and looked at his empty hands. It didn't take a lot of imagination to see his face underneath the helmet.

He joined his hands on his chest, calling for all his outrage at the thought of dying and mustering his anger. A ball of fire began to grow between his fingers, hot, hot enough to melt through a Dragon's scales and bones had he been on his precious Nirn – there, it would've deformed Orichalcum at best.

His Ethereal Form gave way to his corporeal form.

He unleashed the spell.

The fireball left his hands with as much speed as he could imbue it with, and when it hit the man it didn't pass through him, so much as it _engulfed_ him. Unlike his foe, he'd been merciful. The guards' captain had certainly died in the first five seconds. After that, his fire magic just ate away at the armor and the body beneath it, leaving only a puddle of red-hot metal in place of the towering man.

Behind him, someone snorted. He heard the much lighter bark of a small weapon, and something bounced off his backplate. He turned towards the source of the sound, a brow raised in puzzlement.

"Incompetents." The Overseer huffed again, disgusted, and aimed at him. "I'm going to do this myself, it seems."

They had slaughtered her men right in front of her eyes, and the only thing she had to say was that the guards who had died for her, fighting to the last against an unknown enemy, were _incompetents_?

_What a bitch._

The woman unloaded her weapon into his chest (mostly into the walls) as Keram-Rei relentlessly marched towards the responsible for all this. Each and every projectile that struck home ricocheted off his breastplate, until she finally ran out of ammunition.

With a dash forward, he grabbed her by the throat and slammed her hard against the wall. Helplessly, she tried to wriggle away and whimper in pain. He tightened his grip menacingly, and she stopped at once, her eyes silently pleading him to let her go. He could feel the pulse of her neck weakening, her breath not passing, her life slowly but surely leaving her…

"L-listen, I-I'm sure we c-can sort t-this out…" She spluttered, smiling tensely. "M-m-maybe…"

"Neither of us is interested, you heartless monster." Screaming-Eagle responded, although now she sounded coldly aloof, not simply haughty like before. "The only thing you can give us are your memories, everything that could be useful to us: information, knowledge, abilities. And we don't need your permission for that."

He eased his grip a bit. They would've needed her alive for that.

The woman began murmuring something unintelligible as he and Screaming-Eagle laid a hand each on her head, and their eyes locked.

"Rip them from her skull, leave her nothing but an empty husk, devoid of any emotion or intelligence." Screaming-Eagle said, impassive. "Make her _suffer_."

Keram-Rei grimaced. Nobody deserved _that_… with her nod, though, they both cast their spell.

Ignoring the piercing screams a few breaths from him, a steady flow of images began to crowd the Dragonborn's mind, giving him an instant migraine which threatened to worsen with every second. But that didn't matter. All that mattered was understanding what had happened, where they were, how they'd gotten there, and most importantly: _why_.

Pictures, meaningless at first, confused, unfocused… but then they slowly came into focus.

He knew it was going to be good when a part his beliefs and knowledge were shattered before his eyes. The sky wasn't just the sphere of Aetherius. It was far larger than that. The stars could be reached, their worlds touched, and eventually even conquered! The sky was immense, and it wasn't just a picture – it was the _universe_. Magic wasn't Magnus's residue, maybe it was the very force that set everything in motion! Oh, it was so amazing… the knowledge, the… the _everything_!

Alas, then came the rest.

Although he'd half expected the situation to be bad, Keram-Rei was shocked. This wasn't Nirn anymore, it was a planet called 'Earth', inhabited only by the races of Man. He had visions of science, medicine, technology, economy, all the different lifestyles and a society completely alien to his. Vehicles, money, communications, buildings… his brain was exploding.

This world was pure hypocrisy. These people were so advanced and yet so backward, so conservative and yet so immoral and savage… here, money mattered more than anything, even more so than on old Tamriel itself. Everyone watched, everyone knew, everyone suspected… and nobody did a thing to stop it, to change it all.

Everything went downhill. Epidemic diseases, food and water shortages across the… the _United States_ and the rest of the world, more water shortages, resource wars – petroleum wars! Why not make a damn exchange for it? Why not go over China's policies and work for a brighter future together? Why kill each other over _dead animals_?

Then came the dreadful and deadly weapons: rifles, shotguns, machine guns, laser and plasma weaponry. It was an era where armies had no need to clash on the battlefield, where everything was governed by tactics, preemptive strikes from afar with jets, tanks, artillery, missiles. And then yet more resource wars, more food and water shortages that led to riots and power-armored soldiers to control the population, the arms race for more and more nuclear warheads…

War broke out. China invaded Alaska. An all-out war for the last oil wells, destined to end like the Middle Eastern crisis. More military researches, and the United States mobilized their forces into China, with top-notch power armors. Pictures of soldiers, of weapons, of uniforms, of vehicles, of mounds of _corpses_…

A treaty, finally. Peace. Weeks passed in relative peace, no conflicts, lesser tensions, maybe-

October 23, 2077.

For the first time in years, he felt _fear_.

Keram-Rei was beset by the horror. Millions of people turned to ash in the blink of an eye, and hundreds of millions more doomed to die from the subsequent fallout. Raiders and hideous beasts could be the only leaders of the world Earth had become, whateverit had become... _if_ it had become anything other than a lifeless rock.

Two hundred and four years before this day, the entire human race had been brought on the brink of extinction, and he could only imagine what sort of barren world would await them beyond the Vault door. Had civilization even survived out there, or was it all ruled by bandits and warlords? Or worse, were they all _dead_? There had to be more places to hide, other than the Vaults. And even then most of Vault-Tec's twisted experiments were supposed to open after no more than twenty years. But still...

He cared little for Adelaide Bradford's miserable work as Overseer and her little reign of terror under Mount Tipton, Arizona. A loathsome bunker, where everyone was supposed to be her puppet and she their queen, much like some 'Alphonse Almodovar' of experiment 101. A recent failure, from the automated reports she'd received some four years ago. Divines, punishments for… for not returning books or not washing one's teeth? People _executed_ for openly speaking against her?

The Dragonborn managed to wrestle his mind away from the Great War and accept the idea of being stranded on a wasteland of a world.

And still, Vault 24's purpose was nowhere to be found in her mind. There was no way of knowing why he'd been dragged there from Nirn alongside Screaming-Eagle. No information, not a bit of knowledge… nothing, nothing, nothing, just _nothing_. He snarled in vexation.

His headache was nigh unbearable, but now things had gotten clearer – if not why or how they'd been brought there, at least they knew where and when. The functioning of things, the names, the _everything_ was falling into place. They were in a _testing_ cell, where the _Vault's experiments_ took place, with guards in _power armor_ wielding either _energy weapons_ or _guns_ and with _Pip-Boys_ on their wrists. It was a lot to take in, but he'd taken it in all at once. This would've remained in his head for… pretty much forever.

Keram-Rei let the Overseer's body fall to the ground, snorting in disgust as he did so.

_Oh boy! That was _intense_!_

Screaming-Eagle, on the other hand, looked far more shocked than he was. She was trembling visibly, and her staff looked like it could've slipped from her hands at any second. Of course, being a mage of her caliber, she had probably spent her entire life on books and magic treaties, on how the Divines had created everything… he'd had the advantage of being a bit of a free thinker, but her? He doubted it.

"Are you alright?" He tried asking, and carefully laid a hand on her shoulder. Things could've gotten real bad, real fast. He didn't know her, he couldn't tell what she could do in front of all this. She was a mage, a true academic scholar, just the first notions might've been too much for her.

"I am _not_ alright, Keram-Rei." She hissed, and he was glad to see her angered with him. Anger was good. It would boil down, eventually. He didn't want her to have a nervous breakdown at the moment."Nobody can be alright after seeing what we've seen in no more than a minute, you immense idiot!"

Without the slightest warning, Screaming-Eagle slapped him. It wasn't so much the strength that surprised him (it had been pretty pathetic, really), but rather her unprovoked reaction. She shook her head and began regaining her stiff composure. Without even a glance in his direction, she stormed off into the other room with an irascibility he'd rarely seen.

_Oh, I already like her._

It all left him grimace with a perplexed expression on his face and a hand pressed on the left side of his snout. Alright, maybe anger wasn't that good. _What in Oblivion just happened?_

Keram-Rei was about to follow her outside, when something grasped his left foot. He looked down, and noticed Ms. Bradford holding onto his boot. Her empty eyes were focused on it, drool falling from her mouth to the floor. He bared his teeth, gave the woman a last look brimming with hatred, and crushed her skull with his right heel. The pulp of brains, bone splinters and blood splattered under his boot in seconds, but some managed to get onto his greaves and chestplate. A little smudge even fell upon his snout.

The Dragonborn wiped it away with a growl of contempt, then exited the Test Room and entered the Monitoring Center.

If it weren't for the security equipment, the weapon racks and computers, it would've been just as dull as the other room - only larger. Rows upon rows of bulky monitors sat on desks in the center of the room. Along the walls, guard posts and reinforced cabinets stood here and there. They were tactically located near the doors and always accompanied by sandbags, prepped in the event the experiment went wrong. Apart from the different types of cover, their situation was completely identical to that of the one in the cell, minus the corpses. The smell of blood had carried there, but so far, it was the only smell to speak of. Everything was tremendously aseptic.

He figured the desks themselves, if overturned, would've been perfect against small arms fire, given their thicker metal coating. _These people weren't unprepared, not at all._ He thought, amused. And it was true: what could a simple hold guard or mercenary hope to do against these weapons? An undead would've been a challenge, perhaps, but nothing those soldiers couldn't handle.

They, however, had proven to be fatal.

Screaming-Eagle was observing a couple of terminals, then seemed to lose interest and pressed a button. After her brief gesture, the sirens finally stopped howling. Soon the orange light gave way to a calm, white one emitted from neons where the ceiling met the walls. She looked as though nothing had happened, just like when he'd first seen her, some ten minutes ago. Go figure. With a shake of his head, he noticed the elevator door was closed. An emergency lockdown had occurred, and it had been canceled only when she had pressed a terminal's button. So…

_I smell life._

"Hey, Screaming-Eagle." Keram-Rei called out loud, his eyes darting around for any possible trace. "I wanted to tell you something." She turned towards him, irritated, and he narrowed his eyes. "_Laas Yah Niir._" He whispered, and she immediately nodded.

"What is it?" Screaming-Eagle asked, warily scanning their surroundings.

Amongst the thousand or so others, Keram-Rei noticed a bright red aura under a desk on the opposite side of the room and focused on it. He pointed at it, and they both walked around the hall in erratic patterns, choosing different paths and often switching them to give their target the illusion of safety. "You know, I was thinking about the fight we just had. Pathetic resistance, huh?"

"I agree." She said, stopping at two desks from their objective, while he kept walking onwards. The conversation was beyond forced, but it needn't be convincing. "They were surprisingly prepared, but not for mages like ourselves."

"Yes, but you see, there's an even funnier part." The Dragonborn continued, both of them at each side of the desk. He noticed a black boot shivering underneath it. "Thirteen people came in the room, right? I counted twelve bodies."

Without a sound, Keram-Rei dragged the squealing guard in simple security armor out from under the desk. He then grabbed him by the throat and ripped off his screened helmet, just to find the most pathetic excuse of a soldier he'd ever seen. The coward was young, he probably wasn't even fully formed, according to human standards. The boy had greasy, light brown hair, freckles and pimples everywhere on his face, a pair of watery blue eyes and a couple of hairs on his chin. He snorted. _Even the first Dawnguard recruits were better than… this._

_Fuck me, you're right._

"Yes, Jason Daniels, your corpse is the missing one!" Keram-Rei snarled and bared his teeth as threateningly as possible.

"Don't kill me! Please!" The boy pleaded, crying desperately. He was a bit taller than the Dragonborn, but wiry and extremely thin. "Please, please, please, _please_! I don't want to die a vi-"

_Oh, please… _Keram-Rei slapped him, more out of exasperation than anything. "Listen up, we need a couple of things, and you aren't going to utter _one_ word as you carry out these tasks unless we ask you to. Understood?"

The guard, Jason, nodded frantically. His sweaty hair whipped him each time on the cheeks. Screaming-Eagle coughed.

"Any sane person would ask how the _fuck_ you got your place as a Testing Room guard but, alas, there's no time for that." The Dragonborn began, easing his grip a little. "I would love to ask for one of your brand-new weapons, but they look fairly complicated to use. And I don't have enough knowledge about them, nor the time to rip it from your skull." He moved his head accordingly. "So we're going to skip that request. Instead, we want Pip-Boys. And before you ask: no, idiot. DNA lock, we couldn't simply _take one_ from the corpses and expect it to work."

"Bring us two of these Pip-Boy 3000 devices at once!" Screaming-Eagle barked at the boy with a clap and, as Keram-Rei let him go, Jason bolted towards one of the lockers.

He upturned a couple of tables and terminals with extreme ease, faster and stronger than would have appeared possible for a boy like him. _Fear goes a long way._ The Dragonborn thought, amused, watching the boy rip two devices from their containers and sprint back to their position. He was sweating a little too much for Keram-Rei's liking… he liked to think sweat had stained his groin, too, but the stench brought him back to reality.

Who in Oblivion would promote a boy that pissed himself to that rank?

Screaming-Eagle unceremoniously wrapped the two devices around their wrists, and his fit surprisingly well despite the Stalhrim gauntlet over which it had been placed. Of course, it gave an error message, but she just ran a hand over the Pip-Boys and they lit up, showing a little Argonian in a Vault-Tec jumpsuit holding a thumb up as they started up.

_She invents spells on the fly? Now that's something. Don't let her slip away, she's one of a kind._

He almost nodded. _I had already figured that out._

_Good, now start talking. This is getting weird._

"At this point we'd be done, mind you, but we need something else." Keram-Rei said, shrugging. "You're carrying a forbidden OSD drive filled to the brim with music that wasn't supposed to exist according to prohibitionist laws. And despite deceased Bradford's continuous and nagging rants, you kept it. We'll be taking it, if you don't mind."

That said, the Dragonborn held out a hand, and the boy dropped the small disk into his palm. He carefully put it inside his device and copied every single file in a matter of seconds, then passed it to Screaming-Eagle for her to do the same. When she was done, she gave Jason his OSD back.

"Thank you very much, that's about all we needed." Keram-Rei finished, patting the boy's shoulder. This guy was just a scared kid, he'd been pushed around a little bit too much, in his opinion – and he hadn't helped. Maybe he could help him a bit. "And oh, would you care for a word of advice?"

Jason blinked, then nodded his head. "Uhm… yeah, go on."

"Having a little chat after slaughtering twelve people just doesn't make up for a long-awaited experiment gone wrong, don't you think?" The Dragonborn explained, pouting sympathetically. "I suggest you to… _alter_ this story, go tell the rest of the Vault how you, lonely survivor, managed to best us. And then forced us to leave this place forever, heroically saving all the Vault dwellers from certain death. Who knows, most females would reconsider you under this light, yes?" He winked. "What do you think?"

The boy looked at him for a couple of seconds, astonished. "That's amazing."

Keram-Rei chuckled, and patted his shoulder again. "Glad you like the idea! Come on, say how we slaughtered everyone there, but you waited for us outside and brought us to our knees." He looked around the room. "Perks of not installing cameras here, eh?"

Jason nodded avidly, visibly taking in everything the Argonian was saying.

"Sorry for your friends, although I reckon Major Hunt was the only one who actually wasn't a dick to you." Keram-Rei observed, raising a hand in pacification. "So in that case, no need to thank us for the others. We'll be escaping the Vault, and I doubt we'll ever see again. Farewell, Jason."

"Yeah, well, uhm…" The boy mumbled, bewildered. "Farewell, I guess."

_You're always the same. Being this good to everyone isn't going to pay off in the end. Might as well do the opposite._

Screaming-Eagle opened the elevator, and the Dragonborn marched inside, followed by her. The doors closed in front of them, and she pressed the red button marked with a large gear. Instead of focusing on the small metal box they were in, though, Keram-Rei's gaze followed Screaming-Eagle's arm.

He looked at the folds and the little details on the sleeve, all the way up to her shoulder, and he found himself staring at her. He didn't know what wasn't to like about her, to him she looked simply… beautiful. Those dark red scales without a single flaw, those small, graceful horns, those silky smooth and shining feathers, brown as the depths of the earth, and oh those eyes… as red as flames, almost burning…

Pointed right at him.

_You know, I've always thought you were an idiot. Now I'm certain._

The Dragonborn coughed, now extremely interested in the filtered air vent's grill above his head. With every steel bar he counted, he hoped not to be killed by one of her devastating spells. _Fuck, fuck, fuck!_ He cursed nervously, and dared look back at her for just one second.

Quite surprisingly, she did the exact same thing as him. Keram-Rei blinked a couple of times, not quite believing his eyes, then focused back on the metal doors. He didn't even know what to think. To be honest he couldn't even _think_.

She'd caught him staring at her, and his brain had managed to process the whole thing up to that point. Then he'd caught _her_ staring at _him_, and things started to get strange. _Could it be? _The Dragonborn managed to think, and a little idiotic smile crept its way across his face. _Might she be interested? I… that would be unexpected, sure, and…_

_Just focus on the ride, idiot._

* * *

A couple of dings brought him back to reality. The elevator doors instantly swung open, revealing the Entrance Hall. Keram-Rei promptly walked outside and made a beeline for the wall-mounted console, the one that opened the gear-shaped door before them. He pressed the first two buttons, as the procedure described, then he pulled down the single lever with a little more strength than necessary.

Sirens screamed as the gloomy room was bathed in an orange light and the large mechanism grabbed the blast door and pulled it back. The rod-like 'grabber', as called in the Overseer's memories, revealed it to be at least a meter thick, near-indestructible shape of different metal borides. Built inside a mountain, deep into a cave, with greenhouses and water depuration systems… this place was the perfect fortress.

The two of them stepped outside of the Vault and, with his Pip-Boy, Keram-Rei remotely followed the same procedure to close it once again. Two twists on the large knob, into the 'devices' panel, and then straight into the Vault closing systems with a final push of the upper-right button. Sirens wailed again, and the door closed behind them, leaving them in the barely-lit tunnel ahead. Sunlight managed to reach them, but it was just a pale ray, no more powerful than a candle seen from afar. He gestured for her to follow, and the two started climbing.

He focused on the grey device. It was strange, complicated, and yet so useful… it was much larger than his gauntlet, and slightly heavier. It had a large screen in the middle, with a scrolling wheel to the left, some four levers to the right, and three buttons on the bottom. Apparently, its functionalities could've classified it as a personal assistant. Not to mention the Geiger counter on the top left part of the screen, the Universal Disk Drive and the holotape receiver above the screen, and a wireless receiver to extract information from terminals.

The fact he knew all these things so easily scared him.

For the few silent seconds that followed, the Dragonborn couldn't help but think back to the elevator. _Maybe it's all a huge mistake…_ He thought, biting his lip in uncertainty. _Ah, screw it, it's definitely worth a shot. Can't stay alone forever._

"Where are you from, Screaming-Eagle?" Keram-Rei asked to break the ice.

"Gideon." Screaming-Eagle answered. She was being strangely… wary.

"You're a mage, you must come from a noble family, one of those that became rich from trading with the Empire." He pointed out, raising a brow. "There were more than a few in the city, if I remember correctly."

She snorted, indignant. "It's none of your business."

"Spell tomes and magic works are sold at an exorbitant price, especially in our Black Marsh." Keram-Rei continued, bypassing her reaction and hiding a grin. "Either that, or you're a thief."

Screaming-Eagle stared at him, her teeth bared and her eyes narrowed. "Save your breath and do me a favor: _speak no further_."

_Gods, don't do it, don't do it, just-_

"Well, as for me, I come from a little village just outside Stormhold." Keram-Rei began, smiling in nostalgia and ignoring two poorly-concealed groans. "My family was poor, but we were happy, all in all. My mother, my father, my little sister Aphatea… she and I had a small group of friends until I was sixteen and she was fourteen. You know, we used to explore caves and pretend to unravel mysteries in long-lost ruins, discover treasures, stuff like that." He sighed, shaking his head with a smile. Good times, good times. "Then, you know how it goes: adventure, all those tales and legends… and so I left home. My sister wouldn't listen to reason, and there she was, stubbornly at my side. Aphatea and I have traveled and fought all over Tamriel in the last nine years. At first we stayed in Black Marsh, then we moved into Elsweyr and Morrowind, and soon we came to Cyrodill, Hammerfell, High Rock, Valewood, the Summerset Isles. We even went as far as to try our luck in Thras and Pyandonea… the only place we hadn't visited was Skyrim, and so we traveled there. I've been living there for two years now."

… _Don't tell the story of your life. I've heard it a million times – I've _seen_ it a million times!_

"'I'?" She interrupted, interested. "What of your sister?"

The Dragonborn sighed, closing his eyes to cool off. "She's dead."

"Oh." Screaming-Eagle managed, blinking a few times in what might've been confusion, or shock. "I'm… sorry."

"Imperial ambush, neither of us knew we were walking with a traitor such as Ulfric Stormcloak." Keram-Rei continued, the images still vivid in his mind. He'd felt a fist-sized hole in his gut that day, and now it had reopened. "He was a dick to us, sure, but we didn't know it was him until it was too late." He swallowed. "Instead of getting one of Ulfric's lieutenants, an archer missed and got her throat. Before I could heal her, I had three Imperials on me accusing me of treason and 'crimes against Skyrim and its people'." He snorted, narrowing his eyes on the path. "My sister was dying before my very eyes, and they accused us of crimes we had never committed! I would've loved to see their faces when they fought under my command." His grin returned. "I'm a Legate, you know?"

"Wait, it's all horrible, but… you mentioned an Imperial ambush?" Screaming-Eagle asked, perplexed. "And now you're a _Legate_? Is this some sort of joke to you?"

"We're talking my sister's death, how could I… no, of course I'm not joking!" He growled, scowling. "You didn't seem too interested in this, so why-"

"That's how _I_ got to Skyrim." She completed, scowling at him in return. "And that's _my_ rank within the Imperial Legion. Have you been stalking me?"

"What? I've never seen you before! Look, maybe it was another ambush." Keram-Rei dismissed her, waving her off. "Who knows, perhaps you've mistaken him for one of his doubles. You know, most kings and rebel leaders use them to-"

"I woke up in chains on a cart to Helgen, Ralof of Riverwood in front of me, Lokir of Rorikstead next to him, Ulfric Stormcloak at my side. He was gagged because of the strength of his Thu'um." Screaming-Eagle said without even catching her breath. "Long road, and soon after we reached our destination, Alduin attacked just as my turn on the block came."

_By Sithis's dreadful ballsack! She's like you?_

The Dragonborn almost choked, and laid his wide eyes on her. This… this wasn't normal. "Alright, now _that_ is weird."

"Hmm, we are not on Nirn anymore." She murmured, shrugging, and rubbed her chin. "Come to think of it, we most definitely come from different planes of existence. It makes sense."

"Wait a second, this means you're the _actual_ Archmage of the College of Winterhold, you haven't bought those anywhere!" He muttered incredulously, looking at the robes and scratching his feathers, when the true revelation hit him. "And if you've been brought to Helgen, where Alduin attacked…"

"… I'm Dragonborn, just like you." She completed, nodding, somewhere between excited and uneasy. "It feels… strange."

It… it wasn't possible. No, impossible, it was simply impossible. A joke. A dream within the dream, and he had to thank that fucker for it. It was just one of his usual tricks. He'd wake up any second now. This wasn't happening. This wasn't _happening_!

Another world – no, another plane of reality! And there he was, talking with a sexy female Dragonborn from another Skyrim! No, he had to be dreaming this. It… it was a dream, right?

_I would be laughing, Keram-Rei. And I'm not._

It made him think about the Overseer's memories yet again, about the fight, about the Vault itself. He couldn't have possibly dreamed something he didn't know... at least now he had an answer to a dumb question.

"So that feeling in my chest… and yours, at this point, it was the reaction to the presence of another Dovahkiin. It was… just like when on the peak of Apocrypha, our first encounter with Miraak." Keram-Rei realized, earning another enthusiastic nod from her. "Hold on, do you think more are going to come through the Vault? As far as I'm concerned, the different realities might be infinite…"

"How did you get here?" She inquired, creasing a brow.

"I pulled a lever in Blackreach." He answered carefully. Strange question to ask, of all the other possible ones.

"Hmm, a button in Nchardak." Screaming-Eagle muttered, then shook her head. "No, I doubt that device exists in _every_ plane of existence." She then retorted, with an ever-so-annoying (and ever-so-irresistible) roll of her eyes. "We would've been crushed under hundreds and hundreds of Dragonborn like us, don't you think? No, I believe they only managed to throw a limited number of them around the various…well, the various manifestations of Skyrim. Gods know how they did it."

"Great, so there may or may not be more people coming, and we're stuck on another world…" He considered, slowly nodding to himself. "One last thing: you said we come from different planes of existence, hence we're both Dragonborn. Does it mean you're… me?"

"That's a good question, actually." She hummed, tapping her fingers on her right horn. When had she started speaking that _fast_? "We have lived different lives up to Skyrim, but then we both followed the 'Dovahkiin' line, more or less, and the fact we have both fought Miraak further confirms this. Perhaps we've made completely opposite choices, some might be the same, some one of us hasn't even encountered. But you were born in Stormhold, and I was born in Gideon. You're a male, I'm a female. So it would be safe to assume we aren't!" She clapped her hands, now definitely excited. "It's all so… fascinating! So many theories, I could write several tomes about it, and-"

"Then you're going to have to hold on to them until we know how to come back." Keram-Rei stopped her, holding both hands out in an attempt to block her. She'd gotten pretty talkative now, and he wasn't exactly in the mood for talking. "I'd read them, sure, but we could rather talk about these theories of yours. Right now, I want you focused on this whole situation."

"Yes, you're right… sorry." She apologized as they reached the mouth of the cave. She somewhat stiffened back to her original posture.

Another step, and there before them was the scorching Mojave Desert. An endless expanse of burning sand and rock. Their elevated position gave them an excellent view of the absolute _nothing _all around them. The unforgiving sun lazily rose up into the clear skies as they watched, not even a cloud filtering its rays.

_Great, couldn't we get stranded in… what, a jungle? Or a marsh? Too much to ask? You're bad even at accidents._

"What now?" Screaming-Eagle asked, masking what had to be uncertainty with irritation.

"We aren't too far from the Hoover Dam." Keram-Rei calmly remarked. He looked first at the blistering plains outstretched in front of them, then at his Pip-Boy's map. "From here, former Arizona, we might get into former Nevada pretty easily. Las Vegas was barely hit during the Great War, right? We might as well try that. Or Boulder City, too. They're the closest settlements I can think of."

"Good places to start." She agreed with a nod, and just then he noticed clearly the exact shade of red of her scales, how the light played over them... he focused back on her words. "... Avoid crossing the Dam directly, though. It was protected from several attacks. If it happened to be still operational…"

"Who wouldn't want electricity in a post-apocalyptic world?" He completed, grinning although he'd missed half of the sentence. "We'll find another way to get across the river, or we could turn invisible at some point to cross it safely. The Dam had roads, after all. But we must stay silent. Until then, Arvak?"

"Arvak." She repeated with a curt nod, clenching her right fist just as he clenched his. None of them needed particular focus for it.

Two very, _very_ close neighs came from behind him, and something the size and form of a horse headbutted his back. Keram-Rei turned, and there was Arvak, his trusty Soul Cairn steed. Black bones, purple fire, stubborn as Oblivion, and loyal like no other horse.

Arvak nuzzled Keram-Rei's feathers, causing him to laugh. "Yeah, I've missed you too, Arvak."

Somewhere at his side, Screaming-Eagle cleared her throat. "Would you care to move? I need to cast our invisibility."


	3. To Boulder City

Keram-Rei gave Screaming-Eagle an amused look, to which she replied with a fuming glare.

They had crossed dozens of miles of the Mojave Desert. The ride along the old US-93 had taken less than a day, almost ending at the heavily fortified bastion that was now Hoover Dam. They had crossed it invisibly and silently, given the presence of some force called the 'New California Republic'. Nothing they couldn't solve with a diversion.

Besides, of what use could a wooden cabin in the middle of the Dam be?

Other than that, the desert wasn't so bad. During the day, his Stalhrim armor had protected him from most of the heat, up to the point his fur plates didn't even feel warm. At sundown, instead, the enchanted ice had almost… _understood_ the desert's cold, and so Keram-Rei's body warmed up once again. He didn't have a sure explanation for it, but he guessed it was one of Stalhrim's arcane properties – one he'd gotten used to while still in Solstheim.

Screaming-Eagle, however, wore heavy robes, with at least three layers of furs and pelts. He had to admit, seeing her work her way around simple Destruction spells to vent off the heat had been both curious and amazing. Problem was, she was stuck with a cooling spell for another… ten minutes.

At night.

All this because she'd used her staff as a _timed _catalyst to keep the cooling effect permanent without having to cast any spells. Due to some miscalculations, though, she'd had to endure one more hour of ice spells during the cold desert night. Great mage, great theories – highly impractical. He wondered how much time she'd actually spent outside of her room.

Keram-Rei absolutely loved poking fun at her for that. No words, just stupid glances and little grins she could perfectly notice.

"One last look and I'll rip your scales off, one by one." She hissed, barely above the hooves' noise, and he saw her red eyes were burning with rage. It was the third threat now. "Did I make myself clear, Keram-Rei?"

_Scooping your eyes out had more charm to it._

He repressed a chuckle. "As you command."

"Good, because if you even…" Screaming-Eagle trailed off, raising a finger to point in front of her. "By the Divines, is _that_ Boulder City?"

Keram-Rei followed her finger, and his smirk turned into a dumbfounded grimace at the sight before him.

Boulder City was nothing more than an immense hole in the ground. Or rather, a series of very large holes in the ground.

There were a few intact buildings on the outskirts. Most of them were ancient apartments and shops, but the near entirety of the town was reduced to piles of ruins. Enormous craters and mounds of rubble alternated into small blocks of crumbling homes. No warhead had managed to reach Boulder City during the Great War, and even the smallest bomb would've erased the city - a nuclear detonation was out of question. It had been destroyed _after _the war, and he suspected the high concentration of ragged military personnel had something to do with it.

The soldiers swarmed the ruins, either patrolling the place and guarding strategic buildings or looking at some sort of commemorative stone. It was made out of a large piece of rubble, and it seemed there was something carved on it. He had a sneaking suspicion these were the same 'NCR' people they'd seen on the Hoover Dam.

Banners flew high on the few poles visible, showing a grotesque insignia and confirming his suspicions: a large bear over a white and red field, visibly identical to the flag of former California. Except for the fact that said bear sported a second head gazing at the sky over the first one. There was black writing underneath, unreadable from their position, but he knew what it read.

New California Republic.

_Yes, about that… aren't they supposed to stay, like, in California?_

Keram-Rei shrugged and focused on a small patrol not too far from them, oblivious to the two concealed Argonians and their undead mounts. Now he finally had the possibility to observe them without having Screaming-Eagle to invisibly glare at him to cross the Dam quickly. Boy, hadn't she been annoying there.

The patrol comprised of three men and two women in desert sand uniforms, with plates of flimsy-looking armor over the chest and shoulders. They carried pathetic excuses for assault rifles. Likely a cross between early battle rifle models and something a little more advanced, just like their comrades at the Dam.

There were scattered records of U.S. soldiers using similar service rifles, but Ms. Bradford hadn't really been interested in history. As such, he didn't know what sort of threat those weapons could pose. He squinted at the patrol to take in as much as he could. They marched slowly; they were bored. But they couldn't have been in an army with a bad aim, they had to know how to shoot. It wasn't a problem, of course, Stalhrim had proven to be more resilient than a T-45d, nothing short of a high-caliber rifle could hope to pierce it. Screaming-Eagle, on the other hand, was wearing robes reinforced with magic-oriented enchantments.

He wasn't going to risk it.

"What are we going to do?" Screaming-Eagle asked, her hushed voice merely a whisper as they dismounted from their horses. "Should we sneak past them? Use Illusion magic to disguise ourselves as travelers?"

"The second option sounds better." Keram-Rei answered, as they both hid behind a boulder.

Who could've even imagined: civilization _had_ survived out there. These people looked like the poor version of the old U.S. Army, and that in itself was simply amazing. Not only had these people created a nation from scratch, they even had to be civilized enough to be able to organize patrols. And it had to be a _huge_ state, at least for post-nuclear standards. They were the New _California_ Republic, for Talos' sake, and they had the Hoover Dam. It was between Nevada and Arizona!

Screaming-Eagle nodded back at him and took her staff in both hands. After drawing a few small runes in the air with it, she touched her forehead, then his. A faint green glow shrouded them both and, in just a second, it vanished.

Something was very, _very_ off.

Keram-Rei tentatively touched his new face. Now, a new world, he could understand. A war-torn new world, a little less.

But being turned into a human? That was outright weird.

_Oh, you think it's weird for you? Buddy, that bitch's spell has affected _me_. This is insane._

He decided to let it slide. He had a beard now, that much was clear. His skin, however soft it was as opposed to the scales, felt rough to the touch. He ran his fingers over his cheekbones, his chin, his jaw… and it wasn't half bad. His features were somewhat harsh, like those of a warrior or hunter, and his hair was short-cropped, much to his liking.

He had an overall dirty feeling. Unpleasant, but quite fitting for the wasteland dweller he was supposed to be. His muscles felt the same as before, and when he looked down he saw a torn leather vest on his chest. Underneath it were a once-white t-shirt and ragged jeans, a pair of brown boots on his feet. His mighty Dragonbone sword had turned into a… a squalid, rusty _machete_ which looked far too dull to cut through butter, but probably made up for the physical threat in tetanus. The satchel had become some kind of dirty leather bag, worn over his hip just as before. It was pretty much the same, only less… _his_, it felt all too anonymous.

Oddly enough, he still retained his balance. It was as if his tail had never vanished… or as if he'd never had one in the first place. He didn't feel unbalanced and groggy, he could perfectly stand still or even walk. Curious, how her spell took care of even details such as these. Good to know she didn't even just work with visage illusions.

However well-made it was, though, the spell had its fair share of problems. The new, soft skin made him feel uncomfortable - too fragile in comparison to his hardened scales, too sensitive to temperature and injury. The sensation of thousands and thousands of hairs all over his body was just… irritating. It itched like crazy, and the urge to scratch himself was unbearable. Not to mention that they were _everywhere_, even in the most uncomfortable parts possible. _Why would humans even need all this hair?_ Keram-Rei questioned, pained. Of all places, they had to grow it _especially _down there.

When he glanced up from his annoying new form, his jaw almost dropped to the ground. For just a second, he forgot all of his problems.

A pale woman stood before him, cold and beautiful as snow. Her long, hazelnut hair was dancing in the wind, and her perfectly matching eyes were staring at him. Although human, she looked _astonishing_. She was graceful and elegant even with a white tank top on her chest and black leather pants over her slender legs. A pair of satchels and a first aid kit hung from her right hip, and she wore a light-colored pair of trekking boots, with a small knife strapped to her thigh.

The most surprising thing, though, was the metallic gray and brown plasma rifle slung across her back. Its barrel pulsed green with energy, fed into the weapon by various tubes and valves, and she looked unbelievably accustomed to it. Although he would never tell her, he couldn't help but notice that in this form she was very… shapely.

"It seems you would have red hair, were you a human." Screaming-Eagle commented, sneering. Her lips looked so enticing, so inviting, so…

Wait, what?

"Hold on, red hair?" Keram-Rei asked, dragged back to reality, then shook his head. "Gah, fine, let's just get this over with. So we're walking into town, asking questions and such?"

"Exactly." She confirmed, nodding casually.

"You understand we have no idea of the political situation in what's left of North America, don't you?" He insisted, giving her a sideways look. However smart she might've been, it was a dumb plan. "We're going to sound either incredibly suspicious, or incredibly stupid."

"Then we're going to tell them we come from a small settlement south of here, and we moved away after raiders destroyed it." She continued with an unsettling certainty and a shrug.

"How are you going to explain that?" He retorted, and pointed at her plasma rifle. "They were rare before the war, they must be impossible to find now."

She rolled her eyes and snapped her fingers, and the plasma weapon turned into a boxy, dark gray AER9 laser rifle. It had a boxy barrel, a boxy grip, and a boxy sight. The model used to be fairly common even among civilians. "There. Are you happy now, battlemage, or are you going to rant about anything else?"

"Now we're good to go." Keram-Rei answered, and took the lead towards what was left of Boulder City, stepping on the cracked road that led to the ruins. The patrol from before had vanished back into the town, and the whole way was clear up to the first crumbling buildings. It felt… strange, walking into a town like this. It was a ghost town by all means, and yet there were still people there. It made him wonder just how much these men and women had lost.

"Oh, before I forget…" Screaming-Eagle called him, looking at him the way one looked at a particularly stupid dog. "You are Kevin Gray, and I'm Samantha Eagles, Argonian names would not fit well with our disguises. We come from a settlement called Eagle's Nest, perched up on the hills south of here. Unless I choose to undo it, the spell should hold up for about… one hour, giving us plenty of time to gather all the information we might need. Although, I doubt we'll have to speak to more than a few people. Even one should be sufficient. Any questions?"

"Yes, one." He growled, staring into her eyes. "You do understand this is the last time we're dressing up as humans, right? I can't fight with this clothing and this rusty _thing_, the itch is unbelievable, and the smell is terrifying. People will eventually get over the fact we're Argonians, like that boy in the Vault." His expression hardened into a scowl. "Long story short: don't you dare use this trick on me again."

"Do you think I'm enjoying it?" She murmured, snorting. "We might need to use it again since, you know, seeing two non-human life forms cannot be possibly well met by these savages!"

_You should focus on the road…_

"They've been living in a post-apocalyptic world, how strange could it be compared to all the crazy shit going on now, for fuck's sake?" He retorted, struggling to keep his voice low. "There could be chameleons larger than bears, or snake-headed coyotes, as far as I'm concerned!"

_Just look forwards!_

"Oh, stop being foul-mouthed and don't be an idiot!" She hissed, gritting her teeth. "Do you have any, _any _idea how catastrophic it would be for us to-"

"Halt!" A voice called.

"What?!" They both shouted, coming face to face with an armed soldier.

_You can't tell me I didn't try to warn you._

"First, I suggest you two calm down." He said, slowly enough to articulate all the words. He cocked his rifle ready and aimed it at Screaming-Eagle, then at Keram-Rei. His face was barely visible behind the ironsights and the barrel of his gun. "Second, identify yourselves."

"Sorry, caught us in a little bit of an argument… no need to shoot, we aren't hostiles." Keram-Rei replied with a worried smile, raising his hands and elbowing Screaming-Eagle for her to do the same. He'd learned the best thing to do when under an armed threat was to smile. "We come from a small village called Eagle's Nest, up in the hills south of here. It got destroyed by raiders two weeks ago. We've been wandering ever since."

"Never heard of it." The man answered and, if only imperceptibly, he eased his grip and brought down the weapon. Now that he was closer, Keram-Rei noticed his black beard and his dark tanned skin, along with his chiseled features and black eyes. Not too young, definitely in his late thirties, and definitely a distinguished soldier. Probably some sort of sergeant, if the mantle was anything to go by. He'd noticed it was fairly rare among the troopers. "How do I know you aren't lying?"

"Trust me, no one's ever heard of it, we were pretty much cut off from the rest of the world." Screaming-Eagle picked up, and he nearly burst out laughing at her fake, but pretty convincing accent. "Who are ya folks?"

"The New California Republic." The soldier mumbled, doubtful, and raised a brow. "You've… never heard of us? Or the Legion? New Vegas, anything?"

_Two hundred years sure are a long time here, don't you think?_

_Wait, a Legion? Is this some sort of joke?_ Keram-Rei thought, puzzled.

_I don't think so._

"No, never. I remember a couple of travelers talking about this city filled with casinos, then something about soldiers and… 'Romans' fighting, whatever that meant." Keram-Rei lied, hoping to get everything right. Well, even if he _was_ wrong, he could've used the excuse of coming from a small, isolated village once again. The Overseer's memories were incredibly fuzzy in places, but there was a mention of a Roman Empire not too different from the one based in Cyrodill. Same armors, same weapons, same tactics, same language… it was almost worryingly familiar.

"You're… serious." The trooper grunted, a hint of puzzlement touching his voice. While not exactly friendly, at least he had the decency to lower his weapon. "Sergeant Darius McRay, at your service."

Keram-Rei avoided letting out a sigh of relief. It had been enough. "Name's Kevin Gray, she's Samantha Eagles." He held out a hand. "Pleased to meet you."

The soldier glanced at it, but didn't take it. Keram-Rei let his arm fall against his side.

"Couldja tell us somethin' more about the NCR?" Screaming-Eagle asked, folding her arms over her chest.

Oh, he would _never_ get used to that accent. It reminded him of how old, isolated farmers in Cyrodill spoke. The twang was just so annoying… not like those were bad people, or complete idiots, but… it had always given him a bad impression. Those farmers were far too simplistic and ignorant.

"The republic was born in Shady Sands, California, founded by Aradesh." Sergeant McRay told them. "Our forces have established a solid foot hold in Nevada after the First Battle of Hoover Dam, in 2277. Since then, we have been building successful relationships between New Vegas and the NCR. Of course, Mr. House wants to keep his hold on Vegas, but we in the Republic believe he will join us sooner or later if Kimball keeps up with his plan. After we're done dealing with the Legion, at any rate."

"What do you know about the Legion?" Keram-Rei asked him, raising a brow. Since he knew nothing of it, he had to go for the common Skyrim opinion. "The few travelers I saw back at Eagle's Nest didn't speak too fondly of it."

"Trust me, they're right." The Sergeant replied, his eyes narrowed and his voice harsher at the mention of the Legion. "They're a horde of tribals and raiders led by Caesar, their self-appointed emperor. As far as I know, he's based his entire empire on ancient Rome. Truth is, they're little better than barbarians. They leave only plunder and rape in their wake, and that sadistic fuck that is Lanius is the worst of them. They enslave anyone: men might come in handy for works, women are used for breeding. If they get their hands on some kids, the boys get brainwashed and become legionaries themselves, while they keep the girls for entertainment. If you find heads on poles or crucified bodies – breathing or no – the Legion's nearby."

"That's just… _sick_." Keram-Rei muttered, truly shocked. Savagery… alright, he had expected it to be a common thing, but not to such an extent. This was something a gang of raiders or bandits could do, and still it was a far fetch. Not even the Forsworn behaved like… like _beasts_. To think of an entire nation – an entire _empire_ – behaving like that made his stomach lurch.

_They sound like nice people to me, I like them thus far._

Keram-Rei grunted silently. _You're pushing it now. Shut up._

_Oh, and what are you going to do? Come on, I'm curious._

Sergeant McRay snorted. "Sick doesn't even come close."

A few moments of uneasy silence were broken by Screaming-Eagle clearing her throat. "Uhm, listen, what about House?"

"He's the de facto leader of the New Vegas Strip and, by extent, New Vegas itself." The Sergeant replied. "We don't know much about him except for the fact that he's a very rich man, he only speaks through his robots and hardly ever comes in contact with the Republic." He chuckled softly and shook his head. "If you want to believe the rumors, he's an Old World businessman."

Oh no, no rumors at all, he knew that name. House, House, House… there was someone important mentioned in the memories. Known by the entire world, famous, rich, arrogant, brilliant…

Was it the protagonist from that old hospital holo-series?

"I see… what can ya tell me about this place, instead? What happened to the city?" Screaming-Eagle switched subject, looking around at the city. "Was it during the Great War?"

"Oh, no, it happened during the Battle of Hoover Dam, back in 2277." Sergeant McRay explained with a hint of pride, as if there were anything to be proud of in destroying a whole _city_. "I was a private back then. The NCR Rangers and the 1st Recon lured most of the Legion's veterans into the town, but our forces had packed it up with explosives. We blew the Legion to hell and stopped their offensive, although most of Boulder City got destroyed in the process. After that loss, Caesar decided the Malpais Legate, Lanius' predecessor, couldn't lead his armies anymore. He got him covered in pitch, lighted and thrown into the Grand Canyon. Stories tell he didn't even scream on the way down."

"That's pretty brutal." Keram-Rei commented with a grimace. His thoughts wandered back to the few battles he'd lost. Good thing Tullius wasn't insane. "But why would anyone do that?"

"Guess Caesar had to make an example out of him, that 'defeat won't be tolerated' trash." The Sergeant sighed with a shrug. "Anything else?"

"Oh, yes, one last thing and we'll be on our way." Keram-Rei said. "How do we get to New Vegas?"

"Oh, that's easy, just follow the railway north-west and you'll reach it in no time. Raiders stick to the roads." Sergeant McRay explained, pointing at the abandoned station he'd already eyed. "Start there, you can't miss the city. Watch out for the Fiends: they're crazy, chem-addicted raiders that hang around Vegas's ruins, especially near the old train depot. They've been giving us a headache for a long time. It's a _long_ walk to the Strip, but there's the 188 Trading Post and McCarran on the way there."

"Thank you, Sergeant McRay." Keram-Rei said, shaking his hand. "We'll be on our way."

"In that case, I'll go back to…" Sergeant McRay began, then his radio crackled to life and he picked it up at once. "Lieutenant Monroe, sir?" He paused. "I, uhm… yes sir. Understood, the Great Khans, all the way back. Yes sir… understood, McRay out." He looked up at them. "Well, duty calls, sounds like that girl's solved that little situation we had on our hands. Goodbye, and good luck on getting to Vegas. I hear she's heading there too." He gave them a little nod of salute.

She? Who in Oblivion was _she_?

They both nodded in return, exchanged a brief look and swiftly followed the damaged street up to the abandoned train station. They avoided the occasional piles of rubble and finally climbed the old road up to the small, creaking set of stairs that led to the wooden building. Behind it, there were several series of tracks and a rusting engine resting on one of them, along with tall metal structures beyond the green wreck. Back before the war, it… it might have actually been a nice place to live in.

It must've been nice. Sure, it was in the middle of the desert, but the citizens had probably gotten used to it. Lake Mead was just a few miles from there, the houses of the residential district had to be a nice, clean white, with fences - he could already picture it in his mind. He imagined waking up in the morning, a having a wife, an infant child, a nice car, a Mr. Handy - who knew, maybe an annoying Vault-Tec representative knocking at the door.

_The news about the bombs, burning mushroom clouds in the sky, mass hysteria before the shockwave and the blast, the fallout…_

_Just shut the fuck up._ He snapped back. _There's no limit for you, is there?_

_If there is, I'll probably break it before I notice._

Screaming-Eagle opened the door, and her shriek startled him. He stumbled away from the wooden railing and rushed inside, his machete at hand.

That's when he saw her perched on a small metal desk, her eyes widened in horror on… what could have been a scorpion. The creature was helplessly trying to climb the piece of furniture to get to her, snapping its pincers in hope of breaking the desk. It was about as large as a dog, with thick chitinous plates covering tail and abdomen and making it a white-yellowish color. Disgusting, but nothing like frostbite spiders. What was wrong with her?

_I want one of those as a pet. Promise me you'll get me one._

Keram-Rei sighed in exasperation and cut its tail with a swift blow, before he pierced the animal's body with the blade. The monster frantically moved its thin legs to try and scamper away, ichor oozing from the tail stump and the piercing wound, but a twist of his weapon made it stop at once. It was ridiculous, she couldn't handle a giant _insect_? They were Argonians, the poison was hardly going to make a difference.

_Whatever you're going to say, don't do it._

He grabbed his machete and looked up at the frightened Screaming-Eagle, barely containing his laughter. "So much for the great Archmage!"

_There's no turning back, really._

She silently sat on the desk and jumped down, her raging eyes never leaving his for a second. "Does this amuse you, _battlemage_?"

_Look at her eyes, man… apologize and make it quick, come on._

"No, of course not." He mocked her as she took hold of her laser rifle by the barrel. "That was just ridiculous and it made you look like a complete idiot. Why would-"

He didn't get finish the phrase. The butt of her rifle connected with his groin in an unbelievably strong upwards swing, and he fell to the ground with a small whimper. Pain clouded his mind as he shut his eyes, gasping for air and holding on to his battered groin. It felt like his whole lower body had been hit with a sledgehammer. He couldn't feel his legs. Everything was on fire - and yet he was frozen in agony.

_By the Night Mother's rotting ass – would you listen to me just _once_?_

Keram-Rei blinked the tears out of his eyes. _Please, don't say anything…_

An Argonian Screaming-Eagle lifted his spiked chin to better look into his eyes, impassible. "Let this be a lesson for you: do _not_ provoke me."

"Fuck you…" Keram-Rei squeaked a few octaves higher than usual as she walked away with an unimpressed grunt. Her footsteps came to a halt a few seconds later, and wood creaked slightly in what had to be the other room, but that wasn't his most urgent concern. _Why, why can't we be like all other reptiles?_ He thought, and tentatively crawled on all fours. _Now, if I don't focus on the pain, I might be able to make it…_

About a minute and a shit ton of pain later, he struggled to his feet. He whimpered and whine before being actually capable of standing, then he walked into the waiting room. Screaming-Eagle sat on a bench to the far end, and he decided it wouldn't hurt to sit as far as he could from her. The rotting wood creaked dangerously under the weight of his armor as he sat, but it seemed to support him without too many problems. Unless it suddenly decided to break down, of course. He noticed the two vending machines – Sunset Sarsaparilla and Nuka Cola. No problem in drinking those, he supposed. He was poison-resistant already.

He looked at her. She was openly ignoring him, her arms crossed and her snout upturned. She would've looked cute, hadn't her manners been so loathsome. _Look at her, all high and mighty… bitch._

_Since you aren't going to force yourself on her, would you mind to try and talk to her?_

"Oh, come on, did you seriously get that fucking angry for what I said?" Keram-Rei blurted out, crossing his legs and turning towards her. "I'm sorry. There, are you happy?"

_You have serious mental disabilities._

Her head snapped towards him, her teeth bared slightly and her eyes narrowed. "First, battlemage, mind your tongue." She hissed in a low, monotone voice. Oooh, scary. "Second, yes, I am angry indeed. And third, no, I am _not_ happy with your apology."

He rolled his eyes and sighed, then gritted his teeth. "Oh, what, were you expecting me to apologize with tears in my eyes and begin an endless flow of sickly sweet words? Then kiss you and become your prince charming, mage? Or maybe were you expecting things to get more... _physical_?" He snorted. "You know, as haughty as you are, nobody must've even considered looking at you. How many males did you put off with your manners?"

_Just… what game are you playing, battlemage?!_

He saw Screaming-Eagle clench her fists and growl, an eerie blue glow forming around her arms, when she suddenly smirked. "Then I am no more different than you are, right? Look at you: a cocky and arrogant warrior, with the posture of your average hero and the uncertainty of a hatchling." She snorted back. "Good on the battlefield, awful with females, am I right?"

_She's got a point._

Keram-Rei felt, just for a second, the uncontainable desire to vaporize her, but then thought better of it. "Says her, the impossibly superior noblewoman." He growled, baring his fangs. "Forgive me for being a normal person and finding your fear of insects _fucking ridiculous_ after you've faced gods-damned Dragons!"

She didn't answer. Instead, she glowered at him, and bared her own teeth in turn.

_Don't go on. Apologize, cry and blame it on some evil force, but just don't go on._

"Come on, I mean, seriously?" He continued with a snort. "I know you're a noble, I know you're better than me in every possible aspect because I wasn't born a noble, but do you really have to be a bitch about it? What's the matter, repressed rage or something? Your parents closed you somewhere in your huge-ass manor to make you study and become a mage?"

_Can't believe I'm stuck with you._

Screaming-Eagle winced imperceptibly, then narrowed her eyes even more. "You…"

Keram-Rei grinned. _Gotcha._ "Oh, such a tragic tale yours is. Guess what? I don't care. That's no reason for you to look at me the same way you look at a dumb kid, you haughty fuck. We're both Argonians. We've got scales, feathers, and all that. How about putting your lineage aside?" His grin turned into a mocking one. "Or are you scared I'd be better than you at something and your little world would crumble away, huh?"

"Does the fact you will never know the embrace of a female make you focus better, Keram-Rei?" She snapped, furious. "Does knowing you're a complete idiot and I would rather die than consider your presence allow you to become more annoying with every word you speak?"

Keram-Rei's mouth fell open. The comment utterly disarmed him. He hadn't expected that.

_Oh, snap. It burns, doesn't it? Well, that's what happens when you DON'T FUCKING LISTEN TO ME!_

"What a sad little thing you are, Keram-Rei." Screaming-Eagle continued with a sneer, pure contempt dripping from her voice. "You are resorting to all this just because of your idiotic comment and how 'fun' you thought it to be, aren't you? Laughable. Now stay _silent_, and pray I forgive you for your insolence."

Keram-Rei wanted to comment back, something that would hurt her, _anything_. He nearly got to his feet to shout, then calmed a little to have some lucidity. It wasn't the right place for an argument, it was inappropriate. She had insulted him, and he had insulted her… they weren't all that different from two kids.

Time for another plan.

_Oooh, what do you have in mind?_

He snickered. _You'll see. _It was all too comical for him not to. She'd given him a good reply, probably one he would've given himself, too. His snicker turned into a chuckle, until he could barely keep it together.

He laughed.

Now _that_ surprised her. Her expression turned into a deep frown, and her supercilious tone became nothing more than a perplexed growl. "What? What is it?"

"You're a smart one, I'll give you that." Keram-Rei chortled as he shook his head. "I didn't imagine you'd have a comeback ready, really. Well, truth be told, I expected you to cry . But you didn't! I'm impressed."

"You expected me to do _what_?" Screaming-Eagle barked, somewhere between aghast and indignant, and slammed a fist against the wooden wall. She'd lost her temper. Good. "I'm not a child anymore! After all I've been through, I have no time to cry over anything! I am no longer the Scion of House Caleemuseeth of Gideon, those days are long gone! I am not a _child_!"

"So you _have_ been locked away and forced to study." He muttered, raising a brow and hiding a grin with his hand. "House Caleemuseeth, you say? Hmm, yeah, the red scales and magic were kind of a dead giveaway… and by the way, thanks for mentioning it. I got you to talk, at last."

_That was… kinda smart on your part. You wanted to know her better, didn't you?_

Keram-Rei tried not to show his grin. _It worked, didn't it?_

_I still think you should've knocked her out and taken advantage of the situation but hey, your choice. The body isn't mine._

He couldn't afford to laugh again, not with those slits for eyes and gritted teeth. He could chortle, though. That was safer. It meant ungodly pain, not death. That was something.

Screaming-Eagle clenched her fists with a murderous glare that might've scared away a Draugr. The light was green, at least it wasn't a Destruction spell. It might've been an Alteration one. Paralysis, if he was lucky. "You damnable, vile…"

The front door creaked open.

Keram-Rei let out a sigh of relief. A distraction, and a very welcome one. _The Divines are smiling upon me…_ He thought, taking in a deep breath, when the idea struck him.

_The front door has just creaked open, you fucking idiot!_

"Hello?" A female voice called. It was unsure and young, but there was a singular determination to it. "I saw you two come in here, and you looked pretty suspicious, so I decided to follow. So… no hard feelings?"

Keram-Rei looked to his right. Screaming-Eagle had vanished. _Shit._

He heard the hammer of a pistol being brought back. In the deadly silence of the room, it sounded like thunderclap. "Are you with the Great Khans?"

Great Khans… wait a second, weren't they the gang that had a…

Situation with the NCR.

Keram-Rei rubbed his palms against his armored shins, causing a pale green glow under his feet. He stood up – not a sound. _Alright, think, think, think…_ He incited himself and crouched with his right side against the wall, near the entrance. He could simply turn right and take whoever came in by surprise.

_I'll do the thinking for you. She's with the New California Republic. And if she's here to clean up the rest of these 'Great Khans', she's part of a patrol. You won't make it against the entire Boulder City garrison, and it would probably go against your moral code._

"I know you're here…" The girl continued. Each of her footsteps was an earthquake in its own right. The sound pounded in his ears. His own breath felt as loud as the howling wind. "Guys, the others are going, you should get back to Red Rock Canyon… _if_ you're Great Khans."

A brown leather boot came into view under the doorway. Dirty, covered in sand, scratched.

_Strike now._

Keram-Rei grabbed it, and pulled to the right. The human girl yelped, and fell to the ground with a thud. Before she opened her eyes, he was already on her, holding a forearm to her mouth and keeping her still with his own weight. Things… could've been worse, all in all. That had been easy.

_Oh, perfect._

The girl grunted something incomprehensible, her eyes closed shut in what might've been fear.

She was… pretty, for a human. She had licorice black hair that couldn't have fallen under her chin, a little nose, rosy cheeks, her skin somewhat paler than it should have been... she had thin eyebrows, and wore no sort of make-up.

_Just the way I like them: natural._

She was young. Younger than he could've imagined. Not a full woman yet, not by a long shot… she had to be sixteen, tops. He gathered it by her thin form, breasts that weren't quite there, and her incredibly soft features.

_Even better - do it, you can do it! Come on!_

Sixteen, and she already wore a dark brown leather armor, a weathered Pip-Boy 3000 on one arm, and had a various assortment of weapons on her belt and in some sort of backpack. He saw a machete, a pistol, fragmentation grenades, and a hunting rifle. Gods, did she remind him of Aphatea…

_Strip her clothes and expose her flesh, do it! She can't move, she can't fight back, you can do whatever you desire! I want to hear her _scream_!_

Gods, was he insane at times.

Her right eye opened uncertainly at first, only for both of them to shot open in an instant. They were green, a nice shade of Nuka Cola bottle-green. She stopped wriggling, and stared into his eyes. He could see terror on her face. Her breathing became quicker.

_DO IT! SHE WON'T FIGHT BACK!_

_Just shut the fuck up, monster._ He mentally growled. At this point, smiling would've been a terribly _bad_ idea. Grimacing, same thing. If he brought his free hand to raise a finger to his mouth, it was going to seem even worse. Raising a brow… why would he? He wasn't curious, he knew what a human was. What could he do, what could he do, _what_?

Slowly, but steadily, Keram-Rei brought his free hand next to his snout. He gave her a thumbs-up, and what he hoped could've been a reassuring smile. Coming from an Argonian, he doubted its effectiveness.

"Don't worry, we don't want to hurt you." He whispered, still keeping the forearm to her mouth. "Do you understand? If you yell, things will go really, _really_ bad for us."

_You're worthless! Useless, pathetic worm!_

The girl seemed too shocked to speak normally, but her eyes widened even more at 'we' and 'us'.

"So do not try any tricks of yours, human." Screaming-Eagle growled authoritatively from behind him. He could hear lightning crackle behind his horns, accompanied by an intense smell of ozone. "_Stay silent._"

The human swallowed and nodded hastily, keeping her eyes closed. A tear fell down her temple and into her hair.

"Hey, don't cry now." Keram-Rei tried with another faint smile. "Don't worry, neither of us is into humans."

_Speak for yourself, hypocrite. Or did you already forget all those fantasies and crushes?_

He ignored him.

The girl… laughed? The way she and his forearm shook, it seemed to be a laugh. Yes, the wrinkles around her eyes confirmed it.

"You see?" Keram-Rei continued, grinning. "I'm too much of an idiot to have bad intentions. I'm Keram-Rei, and she's Screaming-Eagle."

_Oh, you're right on one thing…_

She looked into his eyes, then behind him, presumably to Screaming-Eagle. She nodded slowly, and her breathing became more regular. She tapped on his forearm with an annoyed look.

"Do _not_ move your arm." Screaming-Eagle hissed. The tip of her staff came closer to the girl's cheek. "How can we trust her?"

"Because, left in her position, she could grab a grenade and get this over with, and she hasn't." Keram-Rei sighed, shaking his head. "Better this than the scenario she must've pictured in her mind, don't you think?"

Screaming-Eagle paused for a moment. "What… scenario?"

_What?_

Keram-Rei blinked twice. _What?_

The girl shared the same reaction. He turned towards the mage with a frown. "I'm a male, she's a female. She can't make a sound, I'm onto her. I'm strong, she's subdued. What could possibly happen? We start drinking mead?"

"No, it just doesn't make sense." Screaming-Eagle said, and gestured at him and the human with a frown. "What's the difference between you killing her and she killing herself? Isn't death the same?"

Keram-Rei exchanged a look with the girl. Her eyes were closed, and his forearm was shaking. He strained each muscle of his cranium not to laugh, giggle or even smirk, and glanced at Screaming-Eagle. This would've probably meant his death, but he had to. "You know what's the difference between a boy and a girl, right, Screaming-Eagle?"

His forearm and the girl shook violently.

"Of… course?" Screaming-Eagle muttered, her brow raised in what could _only_ be puzzlement. She quickly masked it as annoyance. "And your point would be…?"

_I'm surrounded by idiots…_

Keram-Rei tried not to laugh, and stifled a chuckle. "Screaming-Eagle, I know we normally live up two hundred years, three hundred if aided by magic, but… we reach sexual maturity at fourteen. I'm twenty-five. Based on your reaction, I'm sincerely hoping you're just a very old-looking nine year old right now."

"I am twenty-three." Screaming-Eagle grunted, now both annoyed and quizzed. "What are you talking about? What does this have to do with _this_?"

_Well, at least I'm not the only one who's not having fun._

Great. The only female Argonian he knew on this world, smart and beautiful beyond words (and a bit of a bitch, but they could work around that), was about as sexually oblivious as an eight year old kid. Things were just getting better. He was just waiting for pink, rainbow-breathing Dragons to start appearing, and this would've definitely been his worst nightmare.

_What, did you seriously believe you'd get laid conventionally? Come on, we both know it's not going to happen. I had your best interests in mind._

Keram-Rei almost snarled. _Shut. Up._

He lifted his forearm from the human's mouth with a heavy sigh. She just started laughing madly, clutching at her belly as if it could burst any second. "Oh yes, you laugh, I'm trying hard not to cry here…" He muttered. She laughed even harder. "Stop laughing, and… ah, listen, just tell us your name and let's get this over with."

It took the human a surprisingly long time to calm down long enough to speak. She looked up at them, still chuckling like a madwoman. "I-I… oh boy…" She threatened to burst out laughing again. "I'm… I'm Phoenix. People around call me just 'The Courier'."


	4. Courier Six

Screaming-Eagle just scowled at Keram-Rei and this so-called 'Phoenix'. Why the human was laughing, she had no idea. It was clear this 'Courier' was laughing at her, though. _Impudent little girl._ She thought, glaring at her through narrowed eyes and shooting a quick, murderous glance in the male's direction.

"What?" Keram-Rei blurted out, spreading his arms to exculpate himself. "What is it?"

"You have made fun of me and proven your stupidity, _battlemage_." Screaming-Eagle spat the last word out like venom. "Do it again, and it will be the last."

Phoenix whistled, seemingly impressed and nodding. "I meet two mutants, and it turns out the one who jumped on me's a decent guy, while the other's a frigid bitch."

Screaming-Eagle pressed the tip of her staff against the girl's nose. As a warning, a little electric discharge made her hair spike up. She leaned in closer to the human. "Watch your tongue, 'Courier'."

Phoenix's only answer was a series of frantic nods.

"You know, the girl's got a point." Keram-Rei spoke up, uncertain. "You're being about as friendly as a bear. Anything to do with-"

"Do _not_ say a word." Screaming-Eagle snapped, and bared her teeth. If he just dared mentioning anything of her life, he was as good as dead.

Keram-Rei held up his hands in a disarming gesture. "Alright, fine. Is there a way to get past this introduction without one of us getting killed?"

"Not being idiots would be a welcome start." Screaming-Eagle announced. She held her staff sideways, they grabbed it, and she helped them to their feet without a grunt. She looked at the human. "The first question would be why you aren't afraid of us, though."

"You want me to be brutally honest?" Phoenix asked with a shrug. "Under all those scales and scary looks, I don't think you're bad."

Keram-Rei chuckled, and raised a brow. "You don't _think_ we're bad?"

As much as she hated to think so, Keram-Rei was right. This girl had thrown away all wariness in the name of… a first impression? A gut feeling?

"You could've raped me, and she could've blown me to bits." Phoenix shrugged again, unimpressed. "When everyone around here seems to want you dead, that's a start. Plus, you two don't have that crazy look in your eyes raiders or mutants have – hard as it may be to understand your expressions. I mean, it's pretty obvious you're angry when you show your teeth and narrow your eyes, but the other faces... I swear, I keep thinking of iguanas when I look at you."

Keram-Rei's grin faded, replaced by a scowl. "Hold on, who are you calling an iguana here?"

"You must choose your words more carefully, we are particularly… susceptible to certain names." Screaming-Eagle said diplomatically, holding the battlemage back with her staff. "I - _we_ can forgive your ignorance for only so many times before taking it as an insult. How would you feel if we called you a monkey?"

"I'd tell you to fuck off." Phoenix nodded comprehensively. "I get it, it's bad. But there's really nothing else that even comes close to describing your heads. Well, there are Deathclaws, though…"

"Deathclaws?" Screaming-Eagle and Keram-Rei repeated in unison. What sort of ridiculous name was _that_?

"Yeah, Deathclaws." Phoenix confirmed. "Big, ugly reptile things with talons like machetes that tear people in half, and teeth like knives that can chew metal. Most bullets bounce off their scales, and they're about twelve feet tall." She started rubbing her chin and analyzing them. "Well, you could be part of a mutated strand of Deathclaws, as far as I'm concerned. I've heard of talking Deathclaws before."

Screaming-Eagle raised a brow, and eyed the girl suspiciously. "They sound similar to Werecrocodiles."

"Nah, totally Wereraptors, trust me." Keram-Rei waved her off.

"What in Oblivion is a 'Wereraptor' supposed to be?" Screaming-Eagle snorted as she turned towards him. "May I remind you there are _no_ dinosaurs at all where we come from? No, she is talking about Werecrocodiles."

"And I tell you, she's not." Keram-Rei stubbornly said, folding his arms on his chest. "Those things are Wereraptors."

Screaming-Eagle felt like hitting him with her staff. This was preposterous. "Keram-Rei, I swear to the Divines, if you-"

"Woah, waitwaitwait!" Phoenix interrupted, and held her hands up, her eyes wide. "_Were_-stuff? As in, like, _werewolves_?"

"Werewolves are the most common category of theriantropes." Screaming-Eagle informed her, never breaking the scowling contest with Keram-Rei. He was losing. "Foul Hircine grants his followers the form of whatever beast they please, if not infected before. Wolves, bears, boars, sharks, crocodiles, vultures…"

"… Gazelles, monkeys, bats, lions, tigers, slaughterfishes, snakes, and so on and so forth." Keram-Rei completed, finally averting his eyes to look at the girl. "If there's a beast you like, Hircine will turn you into one if you please him. Commonly with a successful hunt or an orgy. Although, I've heard drinking blood during a ritual can turn you into a werewolf."

It felt like he was hiding something from them. He spoke far too carefully, almost unnaturally. That was when Screaming-Eagle noticed: he wasn't afraid, or worried. He was ashamed. What could make someone like Keram-Rei feel ashamed, she had no idea. Maybe…

"Holy shit!" Phoenix swore and blinked hard, her mouth hanging open in disbelief. "If you aren't Deathclaws, then what the fuck _are_ you?"

"Argonians." Screaming-Eagle growled through gritted teeth. Their casual cursing was getting on her nerves. Was there even a _point_ to it, or were they just intercalating their sentences with profanities as a means to drive their points across?

Phoenix looked as though she were about to faint. "And… wh-where do you come from?"

"Technically, Vault 24." Keram-Rei answered, scratching at his gills.

"Oh… oh, you're just experiments, then?" Phoenix asked hopefully. "Like, genetically engineered-"

"In reality, however, I and him were respectively born in Gideon and Stormhold." Screaming-Eagle cut her off. She enjoyed every last bit of her dumbfounded expression. "Both cities are located in Black Marsh, a part of the Cyrodillic Empire of the continent of Tamriel. Nirn is the world we hail from."

Keram-Rei grinned at the girl. "More than that, we're both heroes, saviors and legates in-"

"Now hold the fuck on!" Phoenix snarled, furious, and went for her pistol. She pulled the hammer back and aimed at them both. "You fuckers are legates? God, you're from Arizona, of course you are… stand back!"

"We have awoken here _this morning_!" Screaming-Eagle retorted, feeling her patience crumble to dust. She and Keram-Rei raised their hands - slowly. "How could we climb the ranks of Caesar's Legion in half a day? We were – and still are – part of the Imperial Legion, under command of the Emperor Titus Mede II!"

Phoenix sneered. She slowly began shaking her head and clacking her tongue. "I'm not buying it, bastards."

"Oh, for Akatosh's sake – she's a female!" Keram-Rei blurted out, incredulous. "If you won't believe me, then answer this: how the fuck would they let a female work with them?"

"You looked like humans on the way here, who tells me you didn't both disguise as men?" Phoenix growled back with a grimace. Well, she did have a point. "I can't let you get away, not after… not after Nipton."

Screaming-Eagle weighed the options, and sighed. "There is no other way, is there?"

Many things happened at the same time.

Phoenix let out an enraged snarl and pulled the trigger. Her pistol didn't roar like the Vault guards' guns, like an angered Storm Atronach, but rather it barked loudly. She could almost see the bullet escape the barrel through the muzzle flash and leave a fine white trail behind itself.

Screaming-Eagle's shield appeared in a fraction of a second, the azure energy crackling and humming softly. She didn't have enough time to cast a complete one around Keram-Rei, but it did its work. It deflected the first two bullets, and the only thing she felt was a faint buzz. The girl snorted, and seemed to notice the trick.

She swung the gun to the right.

Keram-Rei, in the meantime, hadn't stood still like an idiot. He lunged forward, his sword still sheathed. He was probably trying to disarm the human, not kill her. It was stupid, too stupid, if he didn't make it in time-

Phoenix shot.

Keram-Rei winced, but he didn't stop. He grabbed the girl's wrist and twisted hard. There was a loud crack, and Phoenix screamed in pain as she and the battlemage crashed into the wall, the pistol clattering to the ground. She went for her machete with her good hand and swung it once. It missed the male's head by inches, and she tried for another hit.

Screaming-Eagle was faster. Her mind had been ready for the chance. "_Zun!_"

At the snarl of pure power and command, Phoenix's machete fell from her hands and buried itself slightly in the rotten wood. The belt loosened and slipped to her ankles, dragging down holster, scabbard and grenades with it.

"Fuck you!" Phoenix screamed, and spat in Keram-Rei's eye. "Fuck you both!"

Keram-Rei let out an exhausted groan and head-butted her. His head was much harder than the girl's, through a combination of hardened scales and bones and the natural resilience of Argonians (and probably Keram-Rei's own stubbornness). Phoenix's head lolled back and she slid down the wall until sat on the ground, unconscious, her hair falling over her eyes.

Screaming-Eagle narrowed her eyes as she approached him, mildly puzzled. "You should have killed her."

"Not a chance, I don't kill kids." Keram-Rei shook his head, and turned to look into her eyes. His own were intense blue, his pupils nothing more than vertical slits. His breaths came hot and short. "The guards at Vault 24 weren't, most Stormcloaks weren't, bandits weren't, assassins weren't, and undead sure as fuck weren't." He cocked his head towards her unconscious form. "She _is_."

Screaming-Eagle didn't so much look at his lips and jaw as they moved, but at his right cheek. There was a deep gash running from his horn to his snout, and scarlet blood started dropping first into his mouth, and then onto his armor. Following the drops, she noticed a hole in the unarmored part of his right side, where the leather vest covered his otherwise unprotected body. Blood leaked profusely, staining the leather.

"Divines, you've been hit." She breathed, failing to mask her worry with annoyance.

He raised a hand to his head and ran it across the length of the blade wound. A warm golden light spread from his fingers, clotting the blood, knitting the muscle, and growing the scales back. "Nothing I can't manage." He chuckled, and moved his hand to his other wound.

Screaming-Eagle intercepted it, and scowled at him. "If you heal it, the bullet stays in."

Keram-Rei rolled his eyes, and glanced over to the sleeping girl. "Fine, then I guess you-"

She didn't let him finish. She'd held her right hand near the bullet hole for the whole time, and was only waiting for a distraction. She tapped her index and middle fingers on her wrist, and a crumpled, bloodied metal object ended up in her palm.

His eyes shot open and he closed them shut an instant later, his teeth gritted and his fists clenched tight. "Fucking Oblivion, Screaming-Eagle!"

Screaming-Eagle grinned and threw the bullet behind her back. Then she patted on the battlemage's side for his swearing. He flinched again. "_Now_ you can heal yourself."

Keram-Rei quickly closed his wound with magic, and glowered back at her. "You could've warned me!"

"Oh, stop crying already and help me with the girl." She scoffed, kneeling beside the unconscious form of Phoenix. She still looked angry. Her right hand was bent at the wrong angle. "We must dispose of her posthaste, and-"

"I'm not killing an unconscious kid." Keram-Rei growled, and shook his head. "Or a kid in general. Just leave her here."

"She may recognize us." Screaming-Eagle retorted, turning to glare at the battlemage, her lips curled into a grimace. "Let me handle this. She won't feel a thing."

"It's not about pain, it's about fucking _killing _her, Screaming-Eagle!" He snapped. His eyes were hard, and his expression was set in stone. "We've got disguises, what's the problem? She's seen them, yes, but you could simply change them. Or change our voice. For the love of Mara, Screaming-Eagle, you could turn me into a female and yourself into a male."

"Two people who are conveniently the opposite of the first disguise?" She snarled, baring her teeth. "How _stupid_ are you, Keram-Rei? And how stupid do you think this girl is?"

"Of all three, you're the idiot if you can't change a damned disguise!" Keram-Rei spat out. "Heal the girl and leave her be!"

"We can't let her tell everything to the NCR, or…" Screaming-Eagle trailed off. Her anger vaporized as the gears in her head started turning. She had an idea. "We should take her with us."

He grabbed his horns and looked at the ceiling in exasperation. "Divines, first you want to kill her, then you want to kidnap her… what is wrong with you, Screaming-Eagle?"

"Do you have any better idea?" She barked. He tried to glower at him, but she was far better at it.

"No." Keram-Rei sighed, a palm pressed against his snout. "Just… heal her, at least."

Screaming-Eagle nodded and took the broken wrist in her hands. The girl grimaced in her sleep, but her expression turned more tranquil the moment Restoration magic kicked in. Despite being slightly younger than Keram-Rei, Screaming-Eagle had focused entirely on magic applications and studies. She was of no use with a blade, but her prowess in magic was unmatched. She could freeze Frost Atronachs solid and incinerate Flame Atronachs.

And she'd done it.

As Keram-Rei's hands started to glow, she pushed him back and shook her head with a sigh. "Your technique is too rough, you'd wake her up. Let me do the work."

He blinked twice, muttered something unkind under his breath and began picking up the girl's weapons. _At least he's trying to be useful._ She reflected, tending to Phoenix's wounds with extreme care. They were nothing serious, and nothing she'd never experienced in first person. A broken wrist, some bruises and a forming goose egg in the middle of her forehead.

Besides… she could feel the girl's older wounds. Screaming-Eagle inhaled deeply and focused on her. Scars on her limbs and chest, mostly from blades or clubs, but it was clear she had already been shot. Many times. Once in the right arm, thrice in the right thigh, once on her right hand, twice on the left, and…

Impossible.

And twice to the… to the head?

Screaming-Eagle moved Phoenix's raven hair out of the way, and her eyes widened. A small, circular scar was located just above her left temple, while another was lower, closer to her forehead. How was it possible? Screaming-Eagle kept on healing her, tending to all of her scars except for those two. Divines, two bullets to the head, and she had survived? It… it sat ill with her to erase those two wounds in particular. They would have made for an excellent story.

"Hey, what's wrong?" Keram-Rei asked, curious, and got to her side. He went silent for a while. "It's not possible."

Screaming-Eagle nodded slowly, her eyes never leaving Phoenix. "It has to be. We're seeing it."

"Fuck!" He swore under his breath. She didn't even attempt a scowl this time; she was better off getting used to his language. "She's survived two bullets to her head? Gods, this close together, so small… a pistol at point-blank range. She's survived an _execution_!"

"So it would seem." She murmured with a slight nod. Then she grunted, satisfied with her work. "Come on now, I think the NCR will be all over this place in a few minutes. Take the girl, I'll hide us."

Keram-Rei eyed her suspiciously. "What if she wakes while we're invisible?"

"Given how hard your head is, it's _hardly_ going to be a problem." Screaming-Eagle snorted, but nonetheless produced ropes and a cloth from her satchels and threw them to the battlemage. "Bind her and gag her. She won't reason with us easily."

"I like the way you think." He smirked, and got to work.

He was strangely delicate for a male warrior, or so Screaming-Eagle thought. He didn't tie her up too tightly nor too loosely, just well enough so that Phoenix wouldn't escape and so that she wouldn't feel pain. First her feet, then her hands, and lastly he wrapped the cloth around her mouth. He set the bound girl on his shoulders with little effort and looked at her.

Screaming-Eagle took hold of her staff with both hands. She felt its weight, its familiar form in between her fingers, the steady thrum of its power growing at her touch. She closed her eyes, took in a deep breath, and began to draw ancient Yokudan ideograms in the air with swift, decided movements. 'Air' was the first, to render them fleet of foot, light as the wind, and to cover their scent. Then came 'Night', to conceal their forms and let them blend in the shadows. Last was 'Spirit', to grant them a safe travel and make the living ignore them. She poked at her own feet with the tip of the staff, then at Keram-Rei's, and finally at Phoenix's.

She exhaled, and they vanished into nothingness.

"_Laas Yah Niir_." Screaming-Eagle and Keram-Rei whispered in unison, enough to make dust fall from the ceiling. Awareness filled her every sense, although the only she particularly needed was sight. Red auras appeared in her field of view, but she focused on the two in front of her. The other ones turned faint pink, while Keram-Rei and Phoenix turned scarlet.

"You know, your magic is far more mystic and fancy than mine." Came Keram-Rei's disembodied voice. She could hear the grin in his voice. "Valenwood?"

"These techniques originated in Yokuda, millennia ago." She calmly replied, and saw a faint change in his head's form. His jaw must have dropped.

"You're kidding me." He laughed, but he didn't sound too confident. "Right?"

"I might teach you one day." Screaming-Eagle said. She opened the front door, and led him through the darkness of the Mojave desert.

* * *

Thousands of stars shone through the night sky like white torches over the sea, the moon a warm, silvery beacon in the darkness. The ground before them was pure black, but she could follow the shape of the road to lead them away from Boulder City, up north. No soldiers came to the ancient station. Either they were too busy, or they just didn't care of the fate of other humans. No shouted orders, no marching steps, no rifles being cocked… silence. More than five minutes passed, and they could hear nothing.

Except for a squeaky noise.

Screaming-Eagle and Keram-Rei froze in an instant. Her head snapped around. The sound came right from the abandoned station, but it was getting too dark to see. The wooden building had disappeared beyond a hill, and she could only make out the refueling towers' outline. There was something moving towards them, but it emitted no aura. It was dead, by all means... it had to be a robot.

A small white screen appeared in the distance, but the image displayed on it was too small to see. The Overseer's memories couldn't be wrong, though. The squeak was that of a wheel, accompanied by the sounds of rusty metal and tubular-like arms, of steel claws idly closing and opening, of a large, boxy frame that shuddered on the cracked asphalt with every pit it hit. Once it came close enough, she was surprised the Securitron didn't display a cartoony policeman's face.

It was a cartoony cowboy's face, complete with hat, kerchief and cigarette in his smiling mouth. The robot came to a halt a few feet before them, and she could've sworn it was staring at them.

It tilted a little to one side, as if to mimic curiosity. "_Never seen the likes of ya before 'round here._" It spoke in a cowboy's drawl. "_Some mighty weird folks y'are._"

Screaming-Eagle was beginning to panic. She had concealed them, she had hidden them, she had silenced them – what had gone wrong? Did she miscalculate the spell? Did she cast the wrong effect? Did she forget something?

She cursed herself for her foolishness. The spell had gone perfectly, of course.

That damned machine had heat sensors.

"_Wait a sec – ain't that a friend of mine ya got there?_" It continued, and now suspicion had crept in its synthetic voice. "_I'm afraid ya'll have to hand her over, punks. Boss needs her._"

"Boss?" Screaming-Eagle asked, perplexed. There was something strange about this. Its intentions were clearly hostile, what harm would a few questions be? "Do you mean Mr. House, back in New Vegas?"

"_One and only._" The robot answered with what could only be a pang of _pride_. Its tone then turned harsher than before. "_I'm warnin' ya, leave her be. An' right now, I might add. Boss doesn't like it when folks like ya start snoopin' 'round in his business or take his property._"

So, this Mr. House had employed her _and_ this Securitron. She was suspicious at first, but now she had the confirm she'd needed. Securitrons, New Vegas… she was ready to bet House lived in the Lucky 38. Vault-Tec and RobCo had been pretty close, after all.

It was only natural that the Overseer Adelaide Bradford knew of Robert Edwin House.

The Securitron's right claws receded into the arm, leaving space to a concealed energy weapon – a laser gatling, default equipment for a PDQ-88b.

"_I said hand her over, snakes._" The robot snarled through what sounded like gritted teeth. "_Ya do that, an' we all walk away in one piece._"

Screaming-Eagle clenched her fists and snorted. "No."

Faster than it could raise its weapon, lightning cracked and rippled through the robot's frame. Different pieces of equipment burst into sparks as circuits were fused together by the sudden heat, and the screen exploded in a shower of glass shards, wires and scrap metal. The machine collapsed on the road with a loud clang.

It didn't get back up.

"Fuck you, tin can." Keram-Rei growled at her side. "Screaming-Eagle, are you alright?"

"We should move faster." Screaming-Eagle said, her voice perfectly audible only to him, and she broke into a jog. Despite the girl slumped on his shoulders, the battlemage kept up the pace.

"Heat sensors?" He asked, surprised. Judging by his voice, it sounded like he couldn't even feel tired.

"Securitrons were fully equipped to fight crime, suppress riots and rout out underground gangs." She answered him, panting. "I didn't cover our heat because nothing ever tracked us down by heat in Tamriel."

"Got it." Keram-Rei grunted back. "Anything else I should know?"

"This self-styled ruler of New Vegas is none other than Robert House, president of RobCo." Screaming-Eagle announced him, although she suspected he'd already understood everything. "Divines know how he's managed to live this long, but it can only be him. He had no wife, no known children, no designated heir."

"Uh, of course." He said. His tone shattered her hopeful dreams of him having a completely functioning brain. "It was either him, or the doctor."

Hadn't there been the danger of more of those things coming from the hills, she would've punched him square on the snout. "You're an idiot."

Keram-Rei laughed. "You two already told me."

Screaming-Eagle rolled her eyes and shook his head, then she abruptly stopped. "You _two_?"

"There's a cave to the left." He announced with extreme, poorly-concealed nervousness.

She had no idea what he was talking about. Now she was certain he was hiding something. The battlemage took the lead, a few steps faster than her, and she fell in line behind him – careful not to get too close. She walked through the uneven terrain, all but tripping on a few rocks on the way, when she noticed he'd finally found the perfect spot for a camp.

A cave.

It was dark and dry, and it seemed like no beast had claimed it. Yet. If they were to light a fire deep enough into the cave, nobody would've even noticed them, as opposed to setting camp on a hill or in the middle of the desert. She cast a magelight on the roof, and she was glad to notice it continued for no more than fifty feet. Not a living nor dead thing inside. No bones in the sand, no dried blood on the sandstone walls or ceiling, no sleeping creature.

She undid the spell, and they shimmered into vision.

Keram-Rei let out a grunt that reverberated faintly. "Nice place, huh? Hidden away from the road, nobody will notice."

"Set up a campfire near the bottom of the cave." Screaming-Eagle said, more of an order than a suggestion. She didn't mind being harsh. "Take the girl at the very bottom. I will try to talk to her."

He nodded, and held Phoenix in front of him. "Sounds good to me. In the meantime: hungry?"

She considered his question as he walked past. When was the last time she'd eaten? One… or two days ago? Her stomach grumbled, and that was an answer all on its own.

"Yes, pretty hungry." Keram-Rei commented as he set the tied girl against the back wall. He got some small logs out of his enchanted satchel. _How did he get one in the first place?_ She thought. They were rare pieces of equipment, and few mages had the mastery to infuse a bottomless enchantment on them. "How does venison with beetroot and elderberries sound? I've got some Argonian Bloodwine, too."

Screaming-Eagle found herself licking her lips, and then she raised a brow. He was a warrior, and he was born a commoner. How in Oblivion did he _know_ that recipe? Plus, it took long to make it. Unless he already had the ingredients ready, that was. "I didn't think you could cook."

He chortled and gave her an amused look. "Trust me, if you'd been travelling with my sister as long as I have, you would understand. Be it a rabbit or a deer, she always managed to make it taste like troll's ass."

She gave him a neutral nod. The conversation was getting too… confidential for her liking. "I'll wake the girl up."

"Sure thing." Keram-Rei shrugged, still grinning, threw a spark at the logs and took a few pots. When she turned, he heard him mutter something, angry. "… Even try speaking about her."

Screaming-Eagle let out a silent sigh. This was no time to think about the battlemage's past life, and his apparent schizophrenia would be a matter for future debates. She had to wake the girl up, possibly without her escaping, so untying her was out of question.

She sat next to Phoenix, who looked peaceful enough in her sleep, and took out her staff. She thought about it for a while. The black wood, the crystals, the runes… it brought her back. She still remembered her first master's face when she'd told him she'd made a staff from Hist wood. And the face her nanny had made, too…

No, not the right time. Divines, the more she thought about Tamriel, about the swamps of Black Marsh, about the wilds of Valenwood, about the arcane sights of Summerset, about the grim beauty of Morrowind, about the untamed forests of Skyrim… the more the Mojave looked like Mehrunes Dagon's Deadlands.

What could it offer to her? Sand, and barren earth, and irradiated ruins. Despite the presence of humans and some brave animals, this place was dead. This _world_ was dead. It would've taken a miracle for it to return to its Pre-War glory… and the United States of the '60s and '70s were a façade, meant to hide misery, hatred, hypocrisy and bigotry.

Perhaps Earth had never been truly alive. Or perhaps this race of humans had long killed it with their endless wars. On Nirn, wars were waged, but not as constantly and feverishly as on Earth. Here, destruction was accepted, loved, almost revered. Even after the near annihilation of humanity itself, they _still_ fought.

Sickening.

As a Legate, it wasn't her place to speak, but neither she nor her soldiers had ever relished or taken glee in killing. By Mara, the fiercest bandit clans of Skyrim didn't even come _close_ to what Caesar's Legion was. Despite the great number of glory hogs amongst the Imperial Legion's officers, she suspected she wasn't the only Legate who saw war only as a business to be ended as soon as possible.

Screaming-Eagle found her gaze shift towards Keram-Rei, who was busy with at least three or four pots and hummed some cheerful song. He wasn't the usual mentally challenged great hero farmers and people's women always went talking about, like the Companions' members. No, he was quite smart (when he wanted to be), and he looked fairly skilled both with blade and magic. He… had a certain appeal to him, she couldn't deny that, and he'd already distracted her more than a few times with those eyes and feathers of his. And with his scales. _And_ his physique. And he was… quite funny, if she thought about it.

Problem was, he was an idiot. And probably insane.

Not in the same way the aforementioned mercenaries were, of course not. They were simply stupid, ignorant, and probably illiterate. No, he was just childish and cocky, and he'd mentioned or spoken to something that wasn't there. She could feel some form of… disturbance radiate from him. He wasn't properly insane, but there was something that didn't quite add up.

Not to mention he'd taken a not-so-subtle interest in her. Granted, he'd have to die before she even thought about showing an interest of her own, but the thought somehow puzzled her. It was a preposterous idea, what benefit would they have by staying together? She wasn't an expert on the subject - well, she actually knew nothing about it - but there were no apparent reasons for them to engage in a relationship.

Screaming-Eagle blinked twice. How in Oblivion had she zoned out like that?

She sighed, cast the thought aside, and drew 'Awareness' and 'Awakening' on the girl's heart with the tip of her index fingers. A blue light danced from the tip of her staff and onto Phoenix's chest, who breathed it wholly. The girl opened her eyes, looked around, and tried to move. A muffled whimper was the only result.

"Do not make it any harder than this already is, Phoenix." Screaming-Eagle told her, mustering all her calm and tranquility. "We do not want to hurt you, but you left us no other choice."

Phoenix's frown was unnaturally deep, but naturally furious.

"We are _not_ part of Caesar's Legion, human." Screaming-Eagle continued, earning a glare with the last word. "But I get it you won't believe me, do you?"

Phoenix limited herself to a scowl. She would've probably huffed 'You don't say', weren't it for the gag.

"There is only one way for me to make you understand what I mean, is there?" Screaming-Eagle asked herself with a pensive look. She ultimately set a hand on Phoenix's temple, where the bullets had hit, and held it there. "This will not hurt you, but I need you to agree. If you won't believe me, then will you believe my memories of the Imperial Legion?"

Phoenix squirmed a little and tried to wriggle away, her green eyes wide, but she ultimately closed them and exhaled. She nodded.

"Breathe deeply, Phoenix." Screaming-Eagle told her, and closed her own eyes. "Think of a river flowing into a lake… think of the Colorado flowing into Lake Mead, think of my memories as the rushing waters, carrying detritus down to the lake, and of your mind as still, crystalline wa-"

She had no need to continue.

Screaming-Eagle focused, and chose what episodes to give her – what to make her see of the Imperial Legion. Their patrols, their forts, their armies, their garrisons. Then came the officers, like General Tullius, Legate Rikke, various other Legates and Praefects, along with high-ranking Thalmor Justiciars.

Then, more personal memories, yet she still kept it vague. Few as they were, she decided not to include discussion or arguments that could reveal anything about her life to a complete stranger. But she showed her the battles she'd fought, her strategies. First with her squad, then with her century, and then with her legion. The fighting styles, the lands they conquered, the people they helped. The different races under the Mede Empire, the Mer, the Humans, the Khajiit, the Argonians.

She showed the girl Skyrim and then Tamriel, what a lively world really was, not the lifeless post-nuclear wasteland she had always lived in. And then the College of Winterhold, the quests to slay Alduin, Lord Harkon and Miraak. She needed her to understand everything. Magicka and its principles, enchantments, alchemy, the schools of magic, and-

Phoenix groaned in pain. Screaming-Eagle broke the contact at once.

The girl's head was slumped forwards, her eyes were unfocused, and she looked like she was about to throw up. Screaming-Eagle cast a Restoration spell against sickness and nausea. It glowed a pale, pleasant grass-green, and its smoke-thin tendrils twirled and moved across Phoenix's belly, gently caressing it. The human raised her eyes weakly to look at her, then shook her head and they shot back into focus. They sparkled with enthusiasm.

"We are not doing it again, it might hurt you." Screaming-Eagle told her, her arms folded on her chest. "But tell me, do you believe me now?"

Phoenix nodded frantically, her giant smile showing even from under her white gag. She tried to speak, but the only sounds that came out were muffled grunts.

"Hold still." Screaming-Eagle ordered, focused on the cloth, and chopped at the air with the heel of her hand. The kerchief fell down, neatly cut in two, onto the girl's lap and back. The ropes followed suit.

"That was so fucking amazing!" Phoenix all but shrieked like a five years old. Weren't she held down by the mage's look, she would've probably been jumping up and down. "The Empire and the world and the magic and-"

"Calm down." Screaming-Eagle said, holding her hands to either side of the girl's head to make sure she looked into her eyes. "Now you understand why we didn't kill you, yes?"

"'Cause it's not how either of you would operate, of course I do!" Phoenix nodded another seven or eight times, still smiling. _Shouldn't her cheeks be hurting by now?_ "It's so great, I can't believe it! And it was… there! I mean, I saw it all, and it was true, and you really come from another world, and…" She shook her head, and sighed – probably to let her thoughts fall in order. "I didn't know you were so awesome!"

"I forgive you, and I suspect Keram-Rei will, too." Screaming-Eagle reassured her, then she frowned. "Ah, would you happen to know something about a… robot?"

Phoenix arched an eyebrow. "What robot?"

"A Securitron, PDQ-88b model by RobCo Industries." Screaming-Eagle continued with a purposefully vague tone. "With a… cowboy face and a cowboy accent?"

"Of course I know him!" Phoenix smiled, and her eyes lit up. "It's Victor, he saved me back when I was ambushed!"

Screaming-Eagle narrowed her eyes on her. This was going to be a little harder than she thought. "Phoenix, do you know who this 'Victor' works for?"

"I think he's working for Mr. House, he's the one who employed me." Phoenix answered, not even the slightest suspicion in her voice. "Why, did you meet him?"

Screaming-Eagle sighed. "Phoenix, that thing tried to kill us."

Phoenix's eyes widened, and she shook his head. "No, no, Victor… he's a good guy, he saved my life!"

"Keram-Rei, what did Victor tell us?" Screaming-Eagle asked, turning back to the battlemage. He was still working with the venison, and only then did she notice the smell. When she thought it was better than the scent of rain or that of old books and parchments, she knew she was starving.

She focused on his answer.

"'Boss needs her'." Keram-Rei did his best impression of Victor's talk. It came out pretty good, if only a little lower in tone. "It tried to shoot us with a gatling laser to take you, get you to Vegas and probably make you work for House. Plus, the metal fucker said you were House's _property_."

Phoenix was in shock. Understandable. Most people would be, after finding out their friend and savior was just seeing to the completion of a job. "Y-you're lying."

Screaming-Eagle sighed. _Denial, of course._ "And why should we?"

"You're… you want to do something with me, y-you made all those things up!" Phoenix screamed, pushing against the rock wall and hugging her knees. "Stay away!"

"This is just getting better and better, isn't it?" Keram-Rei asked sardonically from the fireplace.

"Shut up, Keram-Rei." Screaming-Eagle snarled back, and focused on the 'Courier', harsh. "Listen up, savage girl. We had three options: killing you, leaving you to the NCR, or taking you with us. Normally, we wouldn't trust anybody-"

"I would." Keram-Rei interjected and raised a hand.

"Nobody cares about your accursed opinion, battlemage!" Screaming-Eagle roared, teeth bared and eyes narrowed. He turned back to the pots and silenced himself. She grunted. _Good._ "_I_ wouldn't trust anybody, so consider yourself lucky we decided to bring you along. And consider yourself _very_ lucky you didn't wake up in your 'friend's' metal arms to be used as a thug, a mercenary, a pawn in Robert House's hands. It is _us_ that saved you, not that machine." She made to go away, then decided to stare into the girl's eyes. "And those memories are the only truth you will ever hope to see in your entire life. Keep that in mind."

Screaming-Eagle snorted, rose to her feet, and walked to Keram-Rei. He had three plates ready, and was setting a venison fillet in each of them. She sat opposite of him just to keep an eye on Phoenix.

"Good job back there, I think she already loves us." Keram-Rei muttered, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "A true motivator."

"To Oblivion with you." Screaming-Eagle snorted. "There was no other way of convincing her."

"There would've been if you'd known how to speak to people in the first place." He grumbled, his eyes never leaving the pots and their contents. "There's a little something called _kindness_ that helps a lot. Ever stumbled upon that word in your spell tomes, Screaming-Eagle? Or understanding? Tact? Common sense? Feelings?"

"Speak one more time, and I will rip your tongue out." She growled at him.

"That's exactly what I'm talking about!" Keram-Rei said, shaking his head and chuckling. "I bet humor wasn't included in the package. You know, a friendly 'fuck you' would've made me stop there. You sounded serious."

Screaming-Eagle snorted in disbelief. "I won't use that language! Nor now, nor never."

"Whatever, dinner's ready." He stopped her, shoving a steaming hot plate in her hands, accompanied by a fork, a glass and a piece of bread. She stared at it and blinked, just to make sure she was really seeing it. The meat, the sauce, the layout, the… the _everything_. It looked right out of a painting.

"I still don't believe you learned by yourself." She said suspiciously. It just wasn't possible. Cooks in her family manor were worse than this. How come he had gotten this good?

"Well, I met an Orc, some time ago…" Keram-Rei admitted, then looked over his shoulder. "Hey, Phoenix! You hungry?"

Phoenix stood up and stumbled towards them, sitting on a rock and looking at her plate with empty eyes. That was when they came into focus. "Woah, wait – what's this?"

"Do you know what a deer is?" Keram-Rei asked her with a grin.

"Nope." Phoenix shook her head, unconvinced. "Well, I know deer existed before the war, but I've never seen one. I think they're extinct."

Keram-Rei chuckled and patted his satchel. "Good thing I've got a reserve."

Screaming-Eagle glanced at him, then at the girl. He was fairly educated, but Phoenix looked like she'd rather eat with her own hands. She seemed to manage using a fork, though.

And there she was, sitting in a cave around a fire in a barren desert and thinking about table manners. _Well, they are important._ She told herself._ Or at least, they used to be…_

Screaming-Eagle shrugged and took the first bite. She all but moaned at the taste. It was perfect, _perfect_. The meat was tender with just the right aftertaste of game, and the beetroot and elderberries made for such a sweet sauce… nobody she'd ever known or heard of was that good, apart from the Gourmet himself. Well, unless… no, the Gourmet must have been around since before Keram-Rei was born. It couldn't _be_ him.

"'His ish sho fu'hing wood!" Phoenix spluttered, her mouth full before she swallowed loudly. Screaming-Eagle shot her a scornful gaze she didn't notice. "I mean, I bet whatever you used doesn't exist on Earth anymore, but it's just so good!"

Keram-Rei chuckled and raised his eyes. "Well, glad you like it."

"She's shown me where you two come from." Phoenix told him after a short pause, pointing a fork at the mage. "That place is on a completely different level, it looks like it came straight out of the books I read!"

"Yes, you humans were particularly interested in fantasy and science fiction before the war, although detective and adventure books were amongst the favorites." Screaming-Eagle confirmed, honestly impressed. Overseer Bradford had read only trashy romance novels (with particularly cryptic and incomprehensible scenes; perhaps taking all of her memories might've yielded some results instead of picking only useful ones), but she knew there were many other books in the Vault's library, with most of them dealing with science fiction and fantasy genres. That obnoxious woman knew one or two things on the matter, at least. "Although, not everything your people wrote corresponds to truth."

"Yeah, most High Elves are real pricks, for instance. It's only Wood Elves that care about nature and try to be friendly." Keram-Rei added with a shrug, while Screaming-Eagle's eyes widened in indignation. "And not all Dark Elves are evil. True, they enslaved lots of Argonians, and true, they were cursed by Azura, but I know a lot of good Dunmer. Really good at Destruction magic. They make some damn fine liquors, too. Oh, speaking of which: thirsty?"

Screaming-Eagle looked in Phoenix's direction and met her eyes. They both nodded.

Keram-Rei shoved a hand elbow-deep in his small satchel and, in a few seconds, produced two bottles. One was dark, large, with a bright red liquid inside. The other was just water. He poured some of the Argonian Bloodwine in his glass, then in Screaming-Eagle's. Phoenix got the water.

"Hey, that's not fair!" Phoenix managed between bites. She looked at her glass in disappointment. "Just because I'm young it doesn't mean I can't handle booze!"

"Argonian Bloodwine is the lightest alcoholic beverage I have, and trust me, you wouldn't like the hangover." Keram-Rei warned her. "We Argonians are naturally resistant to disease and poisons, and alcohol classifies as poison. As such, we drink stuff that makes your vodka look like root beer." He snorted in amusement. "This wine would probably get you drunk beyond lucidity in one glass. And it's _light_. Sujamma… look, let's just say whiskey can't hold a candle to that thing. Nord mead is one of the sweetest and strongest drinks for humans, but only Nords drink it, so I wouldn't try if I were you. And don't even get me started on Skooma."

Screaming-Eagle took a sip and raised both brows in approval. Seasoned. Fourth Era, perhaps 176. Excellent vintage, that one.

Phoenix shook her head, chuckling softly. "I think I know someone who would gladly prove you wrong."

"Bah, the point is: this stuff isn't meant for humans, Phoenix." Keram-Rei waved her off. "You'd probably choke on your own stomach."

"Just a sip?" Phoenix pleaded, pouting.

Keram-Rei shook his head. "No chance."

Phoenix pouted harder. "Pretty please?"

Screaming-Eagle looked at the two of them. They were distracted, it was the right moment. She knew full well how unladylike and barbarian this was, but she couldn't just leave the sauce there, it was too good to waste like this.

She closed her eyes and started licking her plate with gusto. Oh, it was just pure ecstasy, it was… it was…

Silent.

Screaming-Eagle noticed in horror the conversation had died down. _Damnation._ She cursed inwardly, and dared open an eye.

They were staring at her.

The way Keram-Rei stifled his chuckles, it looked like one of his lungs was about to bust in his chest. Phoenix regarded her with a somewhat amazed and smug smile.

"Lo and behold, Phoenix, the very female who called you a savage!" Keram-Rei tried to say in an even tone, but both he and the girl burst into hysteric laughter that echoed throughout the entire cave.

Screaming-Eagle lowered her head in shame. What would've her nanny said? She would've probably shaken her head in disapproval. _'Eagle dear, do you think this is the appropriate way for a lady to eat? Like a starving dog? Tsk tsk, I hope it won't happen again.'_

If not at her poor scene, she found herself chuckling softly at her nanny's possible reaction. Divines, and who wouldn't have, with the way she grimaced and how she managed to puff her cheeks to the size of watermelons? Oh, if she missed that old Dunmer. That woman always found a way to make her smile, and there was always her comforting embrace whenever something went wrong.

The complete opposite of her true family.

Screaming-Eagle shook her head. She'd already decided they weren't worth her time.

"I didn't expect you to actually _laugh_, Screaming-Eagle!" Keram-Rei joked, surprised. "Did your grumpiness sense fail you?"

"Please, just how heartless did you believe me?" Screaming-Eagle retorted with a smirk.

"No, I just thought this was the part where you torched us and fed us to a pack of Daedroth." Keram-Rei added. He was smiling – actually smiling, not grinning, not sneering, _smiling_. "I'm glad you liked my recipe that much."

"It was superb." Screaming-Eagle admitted with a nod. She didn't hand out compliments lightly.

"You know, this is all fun and everything, but there's just a little problem." Phoenix spoke up with an uncertain grin. "What the fuck did you want to do after kidnapping me?"

"Well, ah, we…" Keram-Rei looked at Screaming-Eagle for help with pleading eyes. She shook her head slowly. Apart from keeping her from denouncing them to NCR authorities, there wasn't any real reason to keep her with them.

"You just didn't want to get into trouble, did you?" Phoenix asked, this time serious.

Both Screaming-Eagle and Keram-Rei nodded guiltily.

Phoenix narrowed her eyes on Keram-Rei. "You've held me down, you've tackled me, you've broken my wrist, and you've head-butted me. And I bet my ass you've also tied me and brought me here." She deadpanned before turning to Screaming-Eagle. "And you've threatened me at least three times, you've called me 'human' and 'savage girl', you've basically mind-raped me, and you've tried to break my hopes and dreams." She folded her arms on her chest smugly. "The way I see it, you two owe me."

"What?" Screaming-Eagle asked in disbelief. "No we don't, you have attacked us with extreme prejudice and you have called us mutants!"

"Besides, we won't follow you around, and I just _know_ you want us to follow you." Keram-Rei finished harshly. "Forget it, we're busy."

"Yeah, you're busy trying to figure out how the fuck you got here and sitting on your ass the whole day, right?" Phoenix snapped back, smirking.

"No, of course not." Screaming-Eagle lied. She hoped to get it right, she'd never been a good talker, much less a good liar. "We have a precise objective in mind, and we cannot allow to sway from our mission."

Phoenix leaned in closer and scowled at them. "Bullshit. The only thing you two could possibly do is fuck each other like no tomorrow, but I guess someone's pretty tight on that, huh?" She snorted derisively. "Admit it, you can't do anything here."

Screaming-Eagle wanted to ask why would they curse at each other, but she avoided voicing the thought. Chances were they would've laughed. Although, Keram-Rei looked extremely embarassed.

"Well, alright, we're still trying to figure out what we should do." Keram-Rei confessed, his arms spread in a defiant gesture. "So what?"

Phoenix flashed them a predatory smile. "Come with me."

"We don't even know you!" Keram-Rei laughed, while Screaming-Eagle simply shook her head. "Do you really expect two Argonian heroes such as ourselves to follow a teenager around the wasteland?"

"If you want to starve to death out here, it's your call." Phoenix growled. "You've both got your fancy pancy satchels stuffed with supplies for… what, a week? Two weeks? A _month_? And then what? You don't know the plants, you don't know the wildlife, you don't know what's toxic and what's radioactive, you don't know the people around here. How long can you hope to survive, oh-so-great heroes?"

Screaming-Eagle had to agree to each and every point brought up by the girl. However, she narrowed her eyes on her in suspicion. "Are you saying you want to help us in exchange for our protection and aid in battle?"

Phoenix nodded, an approving grin spreading on her lips. "You make sure I don't die horribly, I make sure you don't die horribly. You could make for great allies, with your magic, expertise, techniques and whatnot. Deal?"

Screaming-Eagle knew there was something fishy about this. The girl was friendly and jovial on the outside, but now she'd proved her intelligence. _There are too many things that could go wrong for us._ The mage thought, studying Phoenix. She was young, and yet she had a point. She reminded Screaming-Eagle of herself, in a sense. But still, how could they trust her? How could they know she just wasn't going to-

"Deal." Keram-Rei grunted. She gave him her worst glare. "But first, I want to know who we're working with. And your adventure… it's got to do with those scars on your forehead, doesn't it?"

Phoenix nodded once again and chuckled. "Want the full story or the short version?"

"You know us, what we've accomplished and where we come from." Screaming-Eagle said, resigned. "Include every detail."

"Woah, hold it right there." Phoenix snorted, confused, and jabbed a finger in her direction. "I know what _you_ have done. I don't know anything about him."

"Yeah, about that, we're pretty much the same person." Keram-Rei explained as casually as possible. Phoenix's jaw dropped. "Oh, come on, with all your sci-fi novels there had to be at least _one_ that talked about different planes of reality, right?"

"D-different planes of reality?" Phoenix stammered, her eyes wide. "_Parallel universes?_"

"Call them what you will, it changes little." Screaming-Eagle shrugged, and sat more comfortably. "As I said, you know about both of us. No more questions: we want answers."

Phoenix gave them one last amazed look, then folded her arms across her chest and crossed her legs. "As you might've guessed, my true name's not Phoenix."

"I can't believe it!" Keram-Rei scoffed. "A true revelation!"

"My name is Rebecca McKnight." Phoenix continued without so much as a huff of annoyance. "I was born in Redding in 2265."

Screaming-Eagle frowned. If the maps she'd ripped from the Overseer's mind were right, it was over six hundred miles from Las Vegas. She had come a long way to get there.

"Yeah, I get that face most of the times. Minus the scales." Phoenix joked and flicked her wrist. "I chose to become a courier about, oh… four years ago?"

"You've been roaming the wastes since you were _twelve_?" Keram-Rei asked, this time truly amazed and, if his story was anything to go by, humbled. This girl had been taking jobs as dangerous as his at a much younger age.

"Yeah, the place is a mining city with its fortune running low. There weren't any real possibilities in there, so I started moving with caravans and eventually ended up being a courier." Phoenix confirmed. "I was smaller, it was easier for me to deliver… _forbidden_ packages."

Screaming-Eagle snorted. "A smuggler."

"Well, yes and no." Phoenix pursed her lips, shrugging. "I went legit about two years ago, when I got old enough to become interesting for men. Most NCR customs officers are men, so…"

Screaming-Eagle didn't know whether to be furious or disgusted. She had earned attention at fourteen years of age, _fourteen_.

"And your parents didn't say anything?" Keram-Rei asked. She was glad he'd distracted her.

"My family is made of about eight people with me included, this way they got one less mouth to feed and a more or less steady income." Phoenix said nonchalantly. "They knew the risks, I knew the risks, we all took it well. Apart from my little brother Colin." She grimaced. "I've already missed his birthday last year, all thanks to those fucking raiders out of Sac-Town. They didn't touch me, but they took my bike, and now I just get patient and walk where I have to. It takes longer, it's more dangerous, and my feet always hurt like hell. But I have to make a living, right?"

Screaming-Eagle hummed thoughtfully, rubbing her chin. The wastelands were far more dangerous than one could imagine, if what she said was true. "I can see why you would want us to follow you."

"You're young, you're a girl, and there's plenty of raiders and maniacs around." Keram-Rei grunted. "Count me in."

"Wait, that's not all." Phoenix interrupted them, and tapped her fingers on her left temple with a broad smile. "I've got a score to settle."

Ah, the execution attempt. She'd wondered what had happened since the moment she had seen her scars.

"It was my last job." Phoenix continued, her eyes narrowed on the crackling fire. "The pay was good, the package was light, and I took it in a heartbeat. There were six more couriers like me, all hired to carry weird stuff, but nobody complained or got suspicious. Apart from the fucker who was supposed to take my place and got cold feet, that is."

"The job House hired you for." Screaming-Eagle mused, interested.

"Exactly." Phoenix nodded. "I was just out of Goodsprings when it happened. A man named Benny and some Great Khan thugs jumped me, tied me up, and took the Platinum Chip."

"Wait, the Platinum Chip?" Keram-Rei repeated. "What is it?"

"The package I was supposed to carry to New Vegas." Phoenix sighed and shook her head, pinching the bridge of her nose. "And guess what Benny did before trying to kill me? He started _monologuing_. God, it went on, and on, and on… I even asked him to make it quick and just shoot me. At least he did it." She rolled her eyes. "Next thing I know, I'm in a certain Doc Mitchell's house in Goodsprings, I discover I've been out for days, and I have to follow a trail to get to Benny." She traced her finger through the air in a 'U' shape. "Goodsprings, Primm, N..." She gulped nervously. "Novac, and Boulder City. I helped people on the way, and I made a couple of friends. Now, I've found out Benny is one of the Chairmen in New Vegas. He's probably having some fun in his casino, The Tops, and I bet he doesn't know I'm alive." She grinned wolfishly. "He's in for a nasty surprise."

Screaming-Eagle rubbed her chin. She found herself grinning along. "It is clear that there's more to this Platinum Chip than meets the eye. Perhaps one of Robert House's ambitious projects? Who knows what secrets it might hold."

"Well, I'm sure it's something big, but first things first." Phoenix dismissed her. "I shoot Benny in the face. With a shotgun."

"But he'll be at home, maybe in his casino, surrounded by guards and ready for everything – it's suicidal." Keram-Rei said. He smiled. "I like it."

Screaming-Eagle frowned, and raised her head. There was something wrong.

"I figure if you can use your magic shield or something like that we'd be unstoppable, even if we're just three." Phoenix explained, grinning.

"No, not three." Screaming-Eagle warned her.

Phoenix scowled in disbelief. "Oh what, you're not going to join?"

Screaming-Eagle shook her head. Now she recognized what was wrong. It was a strong, burning sensation that blazed in her heart and spread to her entire chest.

She smirked. "There might be someone else interested."


	5. New Arrivals

He blinked his eyes, only for his gaze to be met with steel. He flexed and relaxed his fingers, cracked his stiff neck and spine, and frowned.

He scanned the cell he'd awoken into, and felt the cold metal floor beneath his body. Even though he was wearing his entire armour (save for his helmet), it almost managed to seep through the joints. He narrowed his eyes on every square inch around him, careful of the tiniest particulars. He saw the dust gathering on the corners, although it looked and smelled like it had started entering the room pretty recently, much like the lonely spider weaving its tail on the roof. There was light coming from an adjacent room, but it wasn't natural… and it didn't have the orange glow of fire, either. It was white, clean… aseptic, one could've said. Weren't it for the fact the place was starting to get sullied, that was.

The most interesting thing about the cell, however, was the cell itself. It was made from a strong alloy and, even though it looked and felt like steel to the touch, he was almost certain it _wasn't_. It looked far more advanced, made from odd kinds of metal. Under his fingers they felt… artificial, yes. He'd never seen nor heard of any metals that combed together could create something so strong, so unique. It was so… alien, there was no other word to describe it. It wasn't born from the earth, the sensation was too different from that of a natural ore. It had been _invented_. But… how could one invent a metal? Things were starting to get interesting now. _Awfully interesting._ He reflected.

Eyes-Of-Silver's mouth twisted into an excited smile. As far as he knew, only one race had managed to create a metal from scratch, and it had mysteriously vanished long, long ago. He had spent a good portion of his life studying them, and the possibilities were simply _endless_! Could this be their heritage? Or even better, could this be their actual home? He sniffed the air, only for it to disappoint him.

No Dwarves.

There had been a fight in here; a pretty recent one, followed by a rather hasty clean-up. The smell of blood was still there, and so was the reek of burned flesh, the stench of death… _human_ blood and flesh and deaths. Plus a faint trace of something else, a familiar odor. He recognized it to be that of his kin. Although, how more of his species had gotten here was beyond him.

Eyes-Of-Silver aided himself to sit with his left arm, its sturdy Ebony frame making it a ridiculously easy task to accomplish. The only signal of stress on its part were a few whirs. It was forged in black Ebony, the "Blood of the Gods", as people called it. The artificial limb was in peak condition, thanks to the recent replacement of its soul gem and oil - the same kind of fuels that made Dwarven Animunculi work. Acquiring the arcane secret to their construction had costed him thousands of Septims and a long visit to Hammerfell and Morrowind. As a result, however, he'd had a fairly handy solution for the two mutilations he had suffered.

When Eorlund Grey-Mane had heard he'd gone as far as to build replacement limbs, he had simply called him insane. When he'd shown up with an Ebony arm and tail after having saved the entire Nirn some three times, however, the old blacksmith had gone awfully quiet. If for having been proved wrong or for having been widely bested in the art of smithing, he did not know. Still, he supposed an old and famous smith such as him must have felt some envy at some of his accomplishments. Was it because of the Companions' preference for his weapons?

He shook his head as though to shake the futile thoughts away. It was no time for memories, he needed to see wether he'd lost something or not.

His Dragonbone armour was unscathed, so this meant nothing had happened to him while he was asleep – or knocked out. His twin Dragonbone battle axes were firmly rested on his back, and the scraping of his replacement fingers on each blade told him they were still as sharp as a Dragon's fangs. His bottomless pouches (a particularly appreciated gift from the College of Winterhold) were scattered everywhere about his person, as always. He tentatively put a hand inside one. When a gold ingot came out, he nodded in satisfaction and put it back in with a small grin. His ebony tail felt as if it had never been cut off, and it worked wonderfully well when he waved it on the floor with a faint scrape of metal against metal.

Satisfied with his checks, he rose to his taloned feet and rotated his shoulders. He dusted his pauldrons and chestplate, rapped his claws on the floor for a moment and went to take a step, but stopped dead in his tracks.

There was a feeling that wasn't supposed to be there. It was a fire he'd felt only once, at the peak of Apocrypha. His heart burned… no, his very _soul_ burned and resonated. This meant that wherever he'd ended up in, things were about to get interesting.

Dragonborn.

And more than one, it seemed.

Oh, this was going to be good. This was definitely a new world, since he seriously doubted the Akaviri could possess the knowledge to forge alloys such as those of the cell encasing him. There were more people like him on the loose – a bit of a shock, since he was the last and only Dragonborn alive. These two proofs led him to the conclusion that logic had apparently decided to merrily abandon him. Well, nothing unusual there.

Eyes-Of-Silver swiftly strode forth and into the other room, an even more astonishing sight than the cell. The dim light appeared to be radiating from the walls themselves, diffused by some sort of luminescent gas or crystal, perhaps. Maybe they worked just as the lamps the Dwarves used to light their cities. The hall was littered with grey desks made out of metal - and not wood, surprisingly enough.

Stuffed chairs with small wheels underneath were scattered around, mostly under the writing tables, while some curious boxy contraptions sat on the aforementioned desks in pairs. These most unusual devices were made out of metal, like almost anything else in the room, and had some sort of black glass pane on the front. Right beneath said screen, rows of letters and numbers on small buttons were lined up neatly. _I wonder what is their purpose?_ He thought, fascinated, when a noise caught his attention.

There were a couple of humans on a chair, both still in the phase of adolescence, if the smell was anything to go by. The female was blonde-haired, and wore an unbottoned blue bodyglove or… suit, it looked like, which had a large yellow '24' emblazoned on her back. The other, a male with brown hair, his face covered by the girl's hair and his body covered by her own, seemed to wear the exact same thing. Originality, ho. They could hardly be anything other than lowly workers.

Sure enough for such young individuals - such young humans in particular - the two were so busy necking, undressing and breathing heavily that they hadn't even noticed him. Besides, their scent gave away their intentions, and they showed no signs of paying any mind to their surroundings. He supposed a heavily-scarred, eight-feet tall, half-mechanical Argonian clad in heavy armour standing at about fifty feet from them must have been pretty hard to miss. _Just typical._ He thought with a mental sigh, raising a brow in thought.

On one hand, he had no desire to disturb them. They seemed to be pretty taken by the action, and to spoil their little special moment would've felt inappropriate. They were uncertain and hesitant in their movements, perhaps it was their first time together. He knew full well how frustrating and embarassing it could be to be disturbed.

But on the other, he really, _really_ didn't want to spectate two humans about to have sexual intercourse. Had they been two human females and had they kindly invited him to join, perhaps… but no, he had no interest in that at the moment.

"Excuse me?" Eyes-Of-Silver asked, his voice impossibly deep and booming, even more so than that of a Dremora. The two fell from their chair, both's terrified gazes fixed on him as the female hastily covered her bare chest with an arm. "I am terribly sorry to interrupt any amorous activities you two seemed to be involved in, but I am afraid I need a hand here." He chuckled, showing his left arm, a little spew of steam gusting from one of its conduits. "Figuratively speaking, of course. "

Neither of the two younglings answered, too frightened to actually speak.

"'I need a hand', you see? 'Tis funny because… ah, bloody Oblivion." Eyes-Of-Silver sighed, shaking his head. A warm smile spread across his face once again. "Let us avoid such petty matters, shall we? There are thousands upon thousands of questions crowding my mind at this very moment, although I feel one is particularly more… _pressing _than the others. Where in Oblivion am I, exactly?"

* * *

"It means there is _another_ Dragonborn!" Screaming-Eagle growled for the third time, pacing around the cave. That girl was trying her patience. "What's so hard to understand? There's another one of us!"

"Oh, right." Phoenix raised her eyebrows and nodded slowly. "And you've got a sense for that or what?"

"Our souls react to the presence of other Dragonborn." Keram-Rei grunted bluntly. Again. "There's some sort of link between us, and we can feel it. We have Dragon souls trapped in mortal bodies. We can feel our kin."

"Like, what, a telepathic thing?" Phoenix asked.

_Again_.

"We already told you – yes, yes, _yes_!" Screaming-Eagle all but shouted, clutching at her horns. "By Julianos, yes! Do you want me to draw it for you? There is another Dragonborn and we have to find him or her!"

Keram-Rei nodded and got to his feet. "I agree. First thing we do: we get to Mount Tipton and-"

"Oh no, there's no way in fucking hell you're dragging me into Arizona!" Phoenix threatened, her voice low and vicious, her eyes narrowed. "I'm not getting into Legion territory."

Screaming-Eagle snorted and went for the cave entrance. "Fine, we'll go alone."

Nothing happened for a few seconds.

"Wait!" Phoenix called, and she stopped. "You didn't meet the Legion on your way here, did you?"

"No, the first people out of Vault 24 were the NCR soldiers at Hoover Dam." Keram-Rei confirmed, his hand on his sword hilt. "We've been told what they do. Trust us, we won't get killed."

"You've heard it from soldiers who in turn have just heard it!" Phoenix retorted, now in a tense tone. "I've… I've seen what they did to Nipton. I haven't slept well ever since."

"This is the second time you've mentioned this Nipton." Screaming-Eagle observed carefully. The girl looked strangely fragile now, as if in shock. "Why? What happened?"

"The Legion happened… trust me, just saying that name brings back things I only want to forget." Phoenix's voice wavered. "You don't know what they're capable of, you don't know what they do to people they capture. You don't know what happens when a city is marked as _damned_."

Screaming-Eagle didn't blink, she just glanced at Keram-Rei. His unimpressed look clearly said 'I've seen worse than whatever she'll tell us, but I'll listen nonetheless'. She gave a slight nod in agreement. They had both seen their fair share of horrors, true, and most of them were unheard of.

Problem was, it was _individuals_ who perpetrated them. Caesar's Legion could be numbering _millions_. All with the same mindset, all with the same hatred, all with the same fanatism, none with doubt or remorse. Indoctrinated.

Phoenix sat down, and gestured for them to do so. As they followed, she took in a deep breath. "I was south of Primm when an NCR ranger told me to go check on Nipton – smoke was rising from the town, she thought it had been attacked by raiders. On foot, it took me about four hours to get there. The wind carried the smell of burned… things. I didn't know what, but it made me gag. I eventually got used to it." She paused and drew another shaky breath. "When I got there, there was a… a guy, he sounded crazy, and he told me he'd won the lottery before he ran away, laughing and screaming. The Legion had held a lottery."

Keram-Rei poorly stifled a laugh. "A lottery? They held a contest?"

Screaming-Eagle stroked her chin, her rage veiled, and looked at the tears forming in Phoenix's eyes. Should she simply slap him, or outright punch him? Or beat him to bleed with her staff? They were perfectly sound routes to deal with a perfect idiot such as he was.

She went with the boot to the jaw.

Keram-Rei fell down on his side, his armor clanking, gripping his mouth and whimpering in pain. When he tried to look up, Screaming-Eagle made sure he stayed down with her glare and her bared teeth. "Stop being such an idiot and actually listen when people talk!" She jabbed a finger towards the human. "Look at the girl, she's on the verge of tears and you _laugh_? Don't answer, just heal and don't interrupt!"

She shot him one last glance and sat back down.

"Not necessary, but thanks." Phoenix smiled weakly, shaking her head. "As I was saying: lottery. I didn't understand what was going on, but the smell had grown unbearable now that I was in Nipton. I noticed it smelled like blood and… God, it smelled like… like…"

Screaming-Eagle grimaced and lowered her head. "Burned flesh."

Phoenix coughed, a hand clasped to her mouth. She blinked hard. "Yeah, it was horrible. As I got deeper into the ruins, I saw legionaries, and the way they stared at me…" She shuddered. "I got scared and hid inside an old building. I found a man there, sitting on a chair. His knees were bleeding, I could see the actual _bone_ come out from the flesh. God, he… he told me what happened, how the Legion had gotten into town and how they'd caught everyone. I didn't want to, but I had to see it with my eyes and report. The main road and the town hall was where everything had happened. There were heads on wooden pikes, crucified people, mounds of headless corpses, pires of burning tires with charred bodies, and… and in the town hall… the people there had been mangled by hungry dogs…" She was starting to break down, and so she let her hair fall on her face. "God, those still alive asked me to kill them, and… and, my God, there were _children_ there, and they were all… they… they were…"

_Dead._ Screaming-Eagle shook her head in disgust and put a hand on Phoenix's shoulder. What this girl had seen was far worse than anything she could've ever imagined; Phoenix could only have her sympathy.

"Please tell me she's making that up." Keram-Rei growled. His eye and hands twitched. "Tell me I got it wrong, that I got it all wrong and I'm just drunk." He stared at her. "_Tell me_, Screaming-Eagle."

"T-the worst were the legionaries…" Phoenix croaked in a shaky voice. "And… and the guy leading them, 'Vulpes Inculta', went on about how Nipton was a-an example, and how I should… I should spread word a-and scare the enemies of Caesar… and I couldn't do anything to kill him, because of all the legionaries there…"

"Ignorant fox? _Ignorant?_ He'll be fucking retarded once I'm done with him!" Keram-Rei snarled, his gloves squeaking when he clenched his fists. "I've started killing men like him young, I'll be glad to do it again!"

"Don't make this personal, Keram-Rei!" Screaming-Eagle admonished him as Phoenix cried silently. Even though her blood boiled in her veins, she couldn't afford to lose her temper. "Involving feelings always, _always_ ensures failure. I know you're furious – Divines, I'm probably angrier than you right now – but this is not the place nor the time to lose focus. We cannot take on an entire army without support, think about it. The NCR is about to wage war on the Legion: that is the moment to strike. They'll pay for everything they've done in time. Right now, we all need to have our minds clear and fogless."

Phoenix sniveled and gave her a weak nod. "You're right. Things… things might go wrong."

"Fuck it, I've killed worse men better when I couldn't think clearly!" Keram-Rei barked, his teeth bared in anger. "I've seen worse, and I can't let this people walk away with it. Can't let it happen again."

Screaming-Eagle narrowed her eyes to better focus on his features. He had used the word 'again', meaning he had already lived through something similar. "I take it this has a personal origin."

"Get your entire village wiped out by a fucking vampiric necromancer." Keram-Rei growled contemptously through gritted teeth. "Have him use five hundred corpses, children included, to try and kill you. Have him laugh in your face and propose to rape you and your sister. Have him talk nonsense about a research using fresh corpses. Then, Screaming-Eagle, and only _then_ I'll listen to you talking about thinking clearly. Because right now, I can't fucking stand the thought of people killing innocents in the hundreds for their aims or just for shit and giggles."

Screaming-Eagle slowly nodded her head and exhaled. _By the Divines, no wonder he reacted like that._ How could she argue with him? "I… I understand."

"No you fucking don't." Keram-Rei muttered. He still wasn't telling all the truth, she could feel it. "But I appreciate it."

In the meantime, Phoenix's jaw had dropped, and she was staring at Keram-Rei wide-eyed. "Holy fuck."

Keram-Rei stood up and spared them a glance. "Look, I don't know about you two, but I'm getting whoever's waiting in Arizona."

Screaming-Eagle shook her head and let out a chuckle. "May I remind you I was the first to propose this?"

"I can't have people following me if we can't count on each other." Phoenix finally said, then gave them a warning glance. "I'll accompany you, but I'm just going to wait for you by the boat. Don't expect me to get miles into Arizona."

Screaming-Eagle tilted her head in curiosity. "Boat?"

"Hey, it's not the first time I come into the Mojave." Phoenix replied. "My jobs were mostly NCR two years ago, so I only got to see the Hoover Dam, Searchlight and McCarran, but I always took some time to walk by Lake Mead's coast. Between a bath and a lakelurk to fight, I found an old boathouse with a couple of boats that hadn't sunk. Nobody would get close to that place anyway, so I figure we could use those."

Keram-Rei gave her a thumbs up. "Good idea. Now let's get going."

"Woah, right now?" Phoenix asked, dumbfounded. "I thought we were going to wait."

"Every second wasted is a second that endangers whomever has come here." Screaming-Eagle retorted. "We can't wait."

"Alright… fine by me, I guess." Phoenix said as she got to her feet, and they walked out of the cave. "So, how long do you think it will take us?"

Screaming-Eagle and Keram-Rei exchanged a glance, and she looked at the girl. "Do you know what a horse is?"

"Extinct." Phoenix deadpanned, rolling her eyes. "You thought there were going to be horses here?"

"I don't think that's going to be a problem." Keram-Rei snickered, and Screaming-Eagle couldn't help but giggle along.

Phoenix chuckled nervously, her eyes a little wider than before. "What… what's so funny about it?"

"You have seen what conjuration can do, yes?" Screaming-Eagle asked, her right hand closed and shining with sickly purple light. "During our travels, we have been granted an invaluable companion."

"Yeah, a horse." Keram-Rei added, raising his fist in the air.

They both cast their spells.

Two ghastly neighs answered their call. Within seconds, the ground vibrated with the steady beat of two horses' hooves on the rocks. Their steeds climbed to the cave's entrance as one, already well used to the presence of each other.

The violet flames of the Soul Cairn danced across their black, sharpened bones without producing light nor shadows. The undead horse on the left, the one in front of Keram-Rei, trotted forwards and headbutted his owner's chest. The other, belonging to Screaming-Eagle, elegantly presented its side to let her mount him.

"It's just been half a day, Arvak!" Keram-Rei laughed as he petted his horse's skull. In response, Arvak let out a snort and headbutted him again. "Yes, yes, of course I'm happy to see you, you pig-headed pile of charred bones!"

Screaming-Eagle just shook her head and climbed up her Arvak's side. How two perfectly identical horses could exist at the same time, she didn't know. How could said horses be so different, however, was a much bigger question. Perhaps they had adapted to their owners.

Phoenix rubbed her eyes in disbelief. When she seemed to notice their horses didn't vanish, she assumed a look of utter dismay. "Jesus tapdancing Christ on a bike! Fuck, I've seen cuter deathclaws than these… these… hell-horses!"

Screaming-Eagle raised a brow. That was a fairly creative oath on her part.

"We're going to use these, get over it." Keram-Rei announced atop his Arvak. "Who are you going to ride with?"

"I'm going on foot!" Phoenix screamed, shaking her head vigorously. "I'm not getting anywhere near those things, fuck you, fuck your horses, and fuck whatever they stand for!"

Screaming-Eagle sighed and dismounted. "Before we ride to Lake Mead's shore, I'll send a message to the other Dragonborn. Phoenix, use that time wisely. Because if you don't agree, I'll personally bind and gag you and shove you on my horse's back. Did I make myself clear?"

Phoenix seemed to consider her offer, torn between fear of the mage and fear of her ride. Arvak had been a frightening sight for the people of Nirn, so she supposed its effect was magnified tenfold for someone who had never thought magic to exist in the first place.

The girl ultimately sighed and gave a weak nod. "I don't know why I'm doing this, but I'll come with you."

"Perfect." Screaming-Eagle commented, turning her back and grabbing her staff. "I'll need a minute or two to cast my spell."

* * *

"Felicitations!" Eyes-Of-Silver shouted over the deafening cacophony of the closing Vault door. The young Jason and Hannah waved back at him before disappearing behind a metre-thick wall of nigh-indestructible metal.

He turned back to the ascending grotto. At the end of it awaited freedom, a beautiful night sky, and a dreadful yet surprising world. Who could've imagined it. One day you're working on some insane contraption, and the other you are roaming the wastes of a desertic world. He made short work of the climb with his long legs, his talons finding purchase on every rock he stepped upon. He supposed it wasn't terribly different from Hammerfell.

Despite the additional weight, he felt little in the way of fatigue. He now carried various other weapons, pieces of armour and devices of just about all sizes. All were simply waiting to be dismantled, only for him to understand their inner workings and mechanisms and rebuild them in a more perfect way. Perhaps in Ebony, Dragonbone wouldn't be the best idea for moving parts and springs. Too rigid. Eyes-Of-Silver rubbed his chin. Perhaps orichalcum would have been ideal for his first attempts; ebony was simply too precious to waste on imperfect designs.

Before he even noticed it, Eyes-Of-Silver found himself gazing at the night sky, the cold plains of the desert outstretching before him in all directions, filled with abhorrent life and struggling survivors. Everything in kilometres looked, smelled and sounded completely dead, much to his liking. It was fine by him, this meant nobody could actually bother him with otherwordly questions. In this case, quite literally.

Just when he thought he'd been left in relative peace, the air in front of him began distorting, and he tilted his head in curiosity at the strange phenomenon.

"**Can you hear me?**" A female voice spoke from nowhere in particular, perhaps inside of his head, followed by the faint image of a female Argonian. Before she could continue, she raised both brows. "**I didn't imagine someone could be that big.**"

"Most people tend to say that, yes." Eyes-Of-Silver sighed, then he bowed. "But where are my manners? Good evening, my sweet lady. I am Eyes-Of-Silver, at your service."

"**I am Screaming-Eagle, and although you can't see him, I have a male named Keram-Rei with me and a female human named Phoenix.**" The female presented herself, sizing him up with those curious eyes of hers. Her posture was stiff, and her head was held high. She had to be amongst the most snobbish-looking people he'd ever had the misfortune to encounter, physical or no. "**Did the guard, Jason, tell you anything about us?**"

"At first he was rather… unkind in your description. He told me the truth only when his partner absented herself to go to the toilet." Eyes-Of-Silver explained. "A rather unnecessary ruse, but at least he appears to be content with the fame it has brought upon him."

Screaming-Eagle nodded absentmindedly, then swiftly changed matters. "**Are you the only one? The feeling was strong, but I guess it's just you, given your size.**"

"Oh, no. I am most definitely _not_ alone." Eyes-Of-Silver retorted, then snatched the shimmering form at his left side. A petite female screamed in surprise at his grab, then looked at Screaming-Eagle from her elevated position. "This little thief thought I had not noticed her." He glanced amiably towards her. "I supposed you should have shielded your scent, too."

"**Nice trick.**" Screaming-Eagle muttered, impressed. "**Stay where you are, we're coming for you. We'll be there in an hour.**"

"See you in an hour, then." Eyes-Of-Silver murmured as her image vanished, then turned towards the thief. "And so you did not expect me to catch you, eh? Well, I am sorry to prove you wrong."

The female didn't answer. She just glared at him at eye level, her legs dangling a few feet from the ground. She wore a full set of some mysterious armour. It looked light, and as grey as her dark complexion. Beautiful black patterns crisscrossed on her exposed scales, like on the skin of a viper. Much to his surprise, they weren't paintings - they were natural, as natural were her long golden feathers and her sparkling eyes, with little horns on her eyebrows and on the sides of her serpentine-looking head. Although short, she was well-proportioned, slender and limber, probably capable of sneaking anywhere and climbing everything in her way. A perfect thief.

Eyes-Of-Silver sniffed the air, then grinned. "And your age is fairly close to mine. Thirty-two, if I am not mistaken."

Her mouth opened in surprise, and her eyes widened.

"Oh, I am terribly, terribly sorry, one should not ask nor guess a lady's age." Eyes-Of-Silver apologized. "But, since 'tis the least I can do, I should now tell you that I am thirty-six years old. We are both fairly young, as you can see. Tell me, do you happen to have a name?"

"Naeera." The thief managed, dumbfounded.

Eyes-Of-Silver delicately set her down on the ground, subsequently letting her scruff go and dusting her shoulders. "Once again, I hope you will forgive me for my rude manners. Wolves do not appreciate people sneaking up on them, you know?"

"You're a werewolf?" Naeera managed, going for the two daggers on her hips.

"Oh, fear not, eating you is not my priority. 'twould be extremely rude of me." He assured her, his right hand on his heart. "I promise you, I am harmless." He waved at her with his left hand, smiling. "No pun intended."

She snorted with laughter, then sat cross-legged on the dusty rocks. "Come, sit down." She incited him, patting on the ground at her right side. He quickly obliged despite his size, sitting in the very same manner as her. "Things are going to get interesting."

Eyes-Of-Silver hummed, grinning at the horizon. "Oh, most interesting indeed, I'm sure."


	6. A Tail

_I know I've already told you, but you really flattered me back there. Honest._

Keram-Rei swore under his breath. Despite the hooves shattering rocks and glassing sand and the girl screaming in what could either be excitement or terror, he could still perfectly hear _him_. He glanced at his right, at the two crimson auras that sat on nothing. Phoenix shrieked, Screaming-Eagle shouted at her to shut her mouth, and they were overall having a better time than he was.

_And did you see the way they looked at you? That human was completely in awe! The female looked suspicious, though. Hadn't you been a complete idiot and had you shut up on a couple of occasions, maybe she wouldn't have noticed._

Keram-Rei ground his teeth. Maybe he should've taken that accursed Skull of Corruption and killed that old repentant-cultist-turned-to-priest, it would've saved him a lot of trouble. At least Vaermina wouldn't have dropped _this_ bastard inside his mind while going on about how 'they had both unleashed the rage of a Daedric Prince and thus deserved a punishment matching their sins' and all that.

What a nightmare the first night had been.

_You tried to kill me again and threw your sword at Vaermina, I'd say it was pretty fucking awesome._

Too bad the punishment seemed to be aimed at Keram-Rei. Treads-In-Gloom was having a blast. And on top of that, those other two just wouldn't stop being that damn _loud_. Maybe, if he closed his eyes and let Arvak do the work, he could just calm down and breathe deeply. He could let it all slide, cool off, and pretend he didn't have annoyances both around and inside of him.

But no, those two just kept on with their little shouting contest in ever-increasing volume. He couldn't even make out _what_ they were shouting, much less the reason. The only thing he knew, though, was that his leather gloves squeaked when he balled his fists.

"Keram-Rei, tell her to shut up!" Screaming-Eagle called for him, annoyed. _She_ was annoyed. He gripped at one of Arvak's bony protrusions near the spine, trying to hold on to that for sanity.

"Please, stay quiet, both of you." Keram-Rei growled loud enough for them to hear him.

"She says I can't have fun!" Phoenix protested, incredulous. "Tell her something!"

He snapped off Arvak's bone.

_Hey, it's not my fault if you can't be stay calm with anything. Maybe you wouldn't be so short-tempered if you had more sex._

He closed his eyes and drew in a slow, deep breath. _I've been under a rain of arrows and I've kept my cool._ He told himself. _I've fought Dragons and I've kept my cool. I've battled monsters and I've kept my cool. I've lived the horrors of war and I've kept my cool._

"Do something!" Screaming-Eagle and Phoenix shouted at him in unison.

"SHUT THE GODS-DAMNED FUCK UP, ALL OF YOU!" Keram-Rei roared at the top of his lungs. Although they couldn't see him, he glared at the two females and bared his teeth. "THIS IS SUPPOSED TO BE SILENT! _SILENT_! YOU TWO HAVE WARNED EVERY FUCKING BEAST AND RAIDER IN A MILE'S RADIUS! FROM NOW ON, SHUT THE FUCK UP, OR I'LL FUCKING COME THERE AND DRAG YOU TO LAKE MEAD MYSELF! SHUT UP! SHUT THE FUCK UP! _RIGHT NOW!_"

Silence. The wind rushed past them and their steeds' hooves thumped rhythmically on the ground.

"DIVINES BE PRAISED!" He shouted in triumph, raising his hands to the sky. "Now let's get a move on!"

The only sound they produced now was that of their own horses. It felt good, it felt so good he could probably cry from joy. No screams, no shouts, no wisecracks. Just them, their horses, and the desert. There was nothing to disturb him. Finally.

_Do you really find me _that_ annoying?_

Keram-Rei snorted. _Yes, I do._

_That's very kind of you._

He shook his head. _Go fuck yourself._

_No, no, I'm serious. After what I've done and what I've said, I find it pretty surprising you only find me annoying. Plus, I'm constantly inside of your head, looking at your memories and commenting at the worst times possible. You don't even know what I _do_ when you're dreaming or you're focused on something else._

Keram-Rei thought about the possible implications of the last sentence. He shuddered.

_Come on, there's lot of phantom shades of people in your memories, did you seriously believe I wouldn't throw random parties?_

_What a… wait, really?_ He thought in reply.

_Mostly orgies._

Keram-Rei grimaced in disgust. _You're sickening._

_Strange, your copy said something else._

He nearly choked in revulsion at the thought. _You've used _me_?!_

_Well, it wasn't exactly _you_, it was more of a shade that looked and behaved like you. And besides, you and your sister are always my guests of honor._

Keram-Rei closed his eyes shut and shook his head slowly. He was feeling nauseous. _Stop fucking around in my head. Literally._

_Yes, yes, yes – now look out._

As if on cue, an invisible barrier kept him and his horse from moving. They both nearly fell, but he gripped Arvak's spine as firmly as he could and managed to stop. He looked to his right for an explanation, but only saw the shimmering form of Screaming-Eagle's staff pointed forwards. He followed the direction she pointed at, squinted, and tried to come up with something a little more elaborate than curses for an answer.

Of all the things they could have run into, it had to be a _military base_.

The large complex stood a quarter of a mile to the north, complete with watchtowers and searchlights in and around a repurposed civilian location. A parking lot was visible from where they came from, behind that lay a stretch of highway, and then came the actual site. The front consisted of a low, continuous row of ancient-styled buildings with pseudo-pitched roofs. These… tourist shops, he guessed, circled around what might have once been an hotel, but now was nothing more than a shattered ruin. The surrounding structures weren't in such a pitiful shape, but they appeared to have been damaged by explosives. The Legion might have attacked it four years back, when they had been lured into Boulder City. That was the only reason he could think of.

Damn, he'd thought it was just a ruin like any other during the day.

"'Hoover Dam Lodge'." Phoenix read through a pair of binoculars. She sounded impressed. "Didn't think they'd fortify it."

"We must find another way." Screaming-Eagle said quietly.

"We should pass to the west on foot, see if there's another way." Keram-Rei replied with a nod.

Things had been going _so_ well up until now. Why did they have to find _that_ in the middle of the desert?

_Just your usual luck, Keram-Rei._

He growled. _Shut up, Treads-In-Gloom._

Keram-Rei jumped down lightly, patted Arvak's neck and started moving. With a quick glance over his shoulder, he saw Screaming-Eagle and Phoenix following him, holding hands. Of course, the girl wasn't Dragonborn, nor was she capable of any form of magic. How was she supposed to follow them if she couldn't see them?

They entered the parking lot without a sound. There weren't many wrecks to hide them, but there were a few army trucks and an off-road jeep. The vehicles were in fairly decent conditions, and resembled those employed by the now-disbanded U.S. Army, especially from their desert tan camouflage. The models could've easily been the same, given the brick-like appearance of the jeep and the massive, reinforced frames of the trucks. The white stars, however, had been replaced by the NCR's two-headed bear. A squad of five soldiers was patrolling at a safe distance from the three, so he led the females behind one of the transport trucks.

There was hardly any possibility. Fortified on all sides, no way to reach Lake Mead quickly. To the west, the highway led either back to Boulder City or all the way around the lake. To the east, it brought them straight to Hoover Dam.

_To the left, in the open, through the hills. It's a small path that goes around the hills._

"To the left, in the open, through the hills." Keram-Rei reported as he pointed at the small path Treads-In-Gloom had spotted. "Screaming-Eagle, are we completely hidden?"

"I won't make the same mistake twice." Screaming-Eagle said flatly.

"Good, follow me." He finally ordered.

Keram-Rei led them to the west, where he saw the winding road that circumvented the low hills, now a pitch-black mass against the night sky. If his guess was correct, this place had been both an hotel and a casino. With the sort of tourism a place like that could bring before the war, that path was bound to bring them to a dock of sorts.

_Sometimes you're much smarter than one would think, do you know that?_

_I'll take that as a compliment._ He replied with a grimace.

Considering the presence of the nearby fort, things were eerily quiet. No sound came as they sneaked off to the beaten path behind the hills, no footsteps, no people, no lights. He could see the surface of Lake Mead glistening under the starry night, though. It was a good sign.

What he didn't take as a good sign was the low, rumbling sound that was drawing closer from further down the road.

Keram-Rei held Screaming-Eagle back with a little push. She and Phoenix grunted indignantly at his gesture, but mere seconds later a pair of cones of light appeared from a bend. He was confused at first, since both the mechanical growl and the intense lights were nothing like he'd ever seen (or the Overseer had seen, for that matter).

Then the thought hit him. The headlights were meant to light the path, and the sound could only be that of an engine. The military vehicle kicked up a small cloud of dust as it moved, all the power generated by the motor widely making up for the lack of horses to pull it. The Overseer had scarce memories of cars or anything of the like - there were pictures and photos, true, but little else of use besides a sporadic holomovie or two. Engines were louder than he'd thought them to be.

_Engines are supposed to move vehicles that weigh one or two tons at best, how silent did you expect one to be?_

The soldiers aboard the jeep were chatting, but not loud enough for him to understand what they were saying. He could see another path not far behind them, leading to the other side of the hills and probably to the Lodge. The NCR jeep made a sound like a distant thud, followed by three others in quick succession. It didn't really sound good, more like a malfunction – could it have anything to do with what the troopers were saying?

_Don't worry, I think they're talking about cooking._

He shrugged, relieved. _I'm not surprised. Food in the army, Imperial Legion or otherwise, has always been trash._

_True that. Do you remember-_

A bright orange light shone upon them.

Keram-Rei looked up, completely distracted from his thoughts. There was some sort of… small fireball hanging in the sky, slowly descending west of their position. It lighted their path and the fissures to the left side of the road. Soon, three more accompanied it, burning red-orange like the first.

"Guys, run back." Phoenix all but shouted, tense. Her voice was shaking, her tone filled with dread. "Now."

"We cannot be spotted by… flares." Screaming-Eagle informed her, confident. "What are you worrying about?"

"About the fact that we haven't been spotted, and these aren't normal flares!" Phoenix retorted. "I recognize them!"

More thuds. It wasn't the jeep this time, he was sure of it. Seconds later, small clouds of white smoke puffed in four different small canyons and began to spread. This wasn't right… what were those soldiers doing? Light to see, of course. But the smoke? To… mark?

_Oh, maybe they weren't talking about food after all. It was the term that distracted me. They were talking about-_

Thud.

"MORTARS!" Phoenix screamed.

_Sorry, maybe I should've contextualized the term._

"WE MUST GET BACK!" The Courier continued, frightened.

Keram-Rei saw the girl's aura sprint back along the road. He had no time to curse at Treads-In-Gloom's error or at Phoenix's cowardice: he instictively grabbed Screaming-Eagle's wrist with his left hand and sprung.

_Where are you two lovebirds going, huh?_

_Treads-In-Gloom, this isn't the right time._ He snorted. _If you actually want to do something, then help me._

_Hey, it's not like I can stop a fucking barrage. Get over it._

Three hundred feet to the right, an explosion shook the very earth under his feet and made them both stagger. It raised and threw dust and debris, some of which bounced off parts of his armor. Two hundred feet further, another round tore apart a patch of earth, and dirt and sand rained upon them.

"Divines!" Screaming-Eagle cried out, her unoccupied hand covering her head.

_Treads-In-Gloom, it's your call – you get useful or you shut up._ He mentally snarled.

_Yadda, yadda, yadda. Empty threats._

He sneered, setting the roaring deflagrations aside. _Empty, you say?_

The bombs kept falling, hammering the lifeless desert with an explosion every two seconds or so. His ear membranes started aching, his innards trembled, his teeth clattered in his mouth. Catapults were nothing more than large slingshots when compared to mortars. And even then, they weren't anywhere near as powerful as heavy artillery.

He dreaded the thought of the NCR fielding those monstrous cannons.

_Waitwaitwait, you're a battlemage. You… you couldn't possibly hurt me. Screaming-Eagle would worry me, but you?_

There was hesitation in his voice.

He grinned. _Who knows. Help me?_

_Go fuck yourself with a blooming cactus. Happy?_

He found himself stifling a chuckle, despite the debris falling over and around him and the hammering noise in his ears. Just what he'd needed.

Keram-Rei closed his eyes. All the noise died away, all the emotions, all the fatigue. He focused on the stream of his life force – a technique he'd learned from an old Khajiit – and found it flowing, pure and strong. In that azure river poured a small, polluted, black brook. It ran along a dried riverbed that was easily as broad as a lake, and now the miserable thing was all that remained.

_No, no, no – you're not doing it._

The plagued water stirred when he set his gaze on it.

_Don't do it. I'll take over and rip off your manhood with your own teeth if you do. It's not a threat, it's a promise!_

With a smirk, he focused on the small, neon green glowing pond next to it, drawing water from him. He blocked the black creek with a small dam, and let it flow into the pond.

_You fucking piece of rotting-_

Silence.

On his left arm, his Pip-Boy started beeping. He could finally have some respite.

"Whirlwind Sprint!" Keram-Rei ordered her over hellish rain and the blazing shells as they came back into focus. "With me!"

She nodded. As she did, three more rounds detonated dangerously close to them. They nearly tripped and fell, such was the shockwaves' strength. The flares in the sky stopped burning, but the explosions lit their way for split seconds at a time. At least he knew the way, he knew to reach the lights behind the hills.

He looked where her eyes would've been with an intensity he could've hardly managed in any other situation, then he glanced forwards with grim determination. They could do it. One shout, and then they would be out of the kill zone. "_WULD NAH-_"

A roar like thunder filled his ears. Both Keram-Rei and Screaming-Eagle were brought down by the shockwave before they could use the third word of power. He rolled like a ragdoll for a dozen feet before stopping. Pebbles rained on his chest and head for a couple of seconds. The only thing he could hear was an ear-splitting whistle.

Gods, it felt like his insides had turned to jelly inside of him and every inch of skin had been covered in bruises. His ribs and limbs could've had been pounded with hammers, for all that mattered, and he knew his tail was bent at a wrong angle. Everything hurt immensely, he tasted blood, and… had everything stopped? No, there were still explosions all around, the ground still shook… why couldn't he hear anything? There was nothing else he could notice, aside from one thing.

He was still holding her hand.

Keram-Rei followed it, and sighed in relief when he saw it was still attached to her body, along with her limbs and head. His wounds were nothing compared to the sheer joy of seeing her there at his side, all in one piece. Once this was all over, Screaming-Eagle would've patched him up and-

His Pip-Boy beeped.

Wait.

He'd _seen_ her hand. And his.

He panicked. What was wrong? Her limbs were all there, it was impossible her back had been cut by the debris, so why couldn't she keep the spell up? Divines, could she be… no, she was still breathing and her hand was warm. He couldn't see any wound to her head in the moonlight. The sound of the bombing slowly returned to its abnormal, deafening, pounding roar, but he utterly ignored it. However, each vibration made something dark and glistening shudder on the ground, around Screaming-Eagle.

His eyes widened in terror. He might've called her name.

Her back was bleeding.

Keram-Rei rolled Screaming-Eagle over with a feeble moan from her, and sudden panic took over him, freezing him solid for the seconds that followed. Each and every explosion showered them with dirt, punching at his gut with the force of a giant. Still, the fear of being hit was nothing compared to what had happened to her.

Gods, where… where was her _tail_?

He was at a loss. He could do his best to close the wound, but it was a complete mess: the first two vertebrae of her tail protruded from the stump that used to be its base. Blood was pouring, almost spurting from what little remained, soaking her lower robes and her pants crimson.

His Pip-Boy beeped frantically.

Sealing the wound was just a dangerous, hasty and debilitating solution, albeit the only one. Even if he managed to stop the blood and heal her, there was no certainty she could walk or swim normally any time soon, if at all in the worst case. Argonians used their tails both to balance themselves when walking or running, and wagged it underwater to propel themselves forwards. To lose it would've meant she had to learn everything again.

And that was only the practical part of the problem: if they somehow managed to return to Nirn, any and all Argonians would've turned the other way wherever she went. She wouldn't be welcome anywhere in Black Marsh, losing the tail was just short of renouncing the Hist. Letting her die would've been merciful.

More rounds fell and scarred the earth and the hillside. Boulders rolled less than a hundred feet from them. He had to choose, and be quick about it. Death or life. Honor or dishonor.

Keram-Rei looked at the wound and at the bloodloss. She had little time left if he didn't take action. He was too slow with Restoration, it would've taken him too long for him to save her. There was only one immediate solution to this.

"To Oblivion with it!" He snarled. He'd already been banished for having burned down a Hist. Black Marsh was just an endless expanse of mire and mist – she was far more suited for the Summerset Isles. She was wasted in that pile of shit.

"I'd rather have you live in dishonor than have you die in honor." He told her, his eyes closed. One hand gripped her fingers, the other hovered over the wound. He doubted she could hear him, much less make sense of the words, but she had all the rights to hate him for this. "This is going to hurt."

He cauterized it.

Screaming-Eagle's screech was unlike anything he'd ever heard. The sound was nothing to him… the fact that he'd made her suffer was much worse. The reek of charred scales and flesh filled his nostrils, and he quickly undid the spell. The stump was a mess. The vertebrae were blackened, the muscles nearly fused by the heat, the scales had peeled off. But she'd stopped bleeding, and she was still breathing.

Keram-Rei tried to shield her and, in doing so, he turned right. A girl was running through the endless barrage, holding something in her hands and screaming something.

The little coward that had abandoned them.

"I said, what the fuck happened?" Phoenix shrieked over the mortars' sound. Her tone was one of horror. "Is this her tail?!"

"You fucking bitch!" Keram-Rei roared over the raining mortars. She recoiled in fear. "You've left us alone in this!"

"Because I knew you two had better chances than me!" Phoenix cried out. He could see the tears on her face, and her expression of absolute fear. He must've looked like a monster to her. "I'm sorry!"

"She's not in one piece, she's lost her tail!" Keram-Rei abruptly told her. This was no place to scream at a teenager. "I had to cauterize the wound!"

"You're a fucking idiot, you could've waited for me!" Phoenix snarled, throwing him the limp tail. He caught it with a surge of nausea.

Images of Windhelm flashed across his mind. His Pip-Boy kept beeping.

Keram-Rei shook the thoughts away from his head and looked at the Courier. "What are you doing?"

Phoenix took a small case from her backpack and opened it, as if the mortar shells weren't anything to worry about. Inside, he could see a dozen syringes – all with 'arms' spreading from the sides in a T shape and a gauge attached to them.

Stimpaks.

The girl took one out, closed the case and set both it and the backpack on the ground. She ripped the rubber case on the Stimpak with her teeth, baring the tip, and buried it just above the charred stump of tail Screaming-Eagle had left. She pressed the gauge with her thumb.

The wound's color changed almost immediately. From deep red and charred black, it turned dark pink. Scar tissue.

"She's lost too much blood!" Phoenix screamed. She went for her backpack again, and this time took out a much larger… syringe, he guessed. It was twice as large as a Stimpak. It had a tubular form with a broader tip, and was colored a deep crimson. On it was what he assumed to be a stylized vampire. "She'll need this!"

"Are you sure this will work?" Keram-Rei asked, hopeful. There was no time to be skeptical. "What is it?"

"Blood+ works on any animal you can think of, you can bet your ass it's going to work!" Phoenix proudly declared, and shoved the syringe just above the Stimpak. She injected whatever that liquid was into the wound. "Don't know how the fuck they made it, but it stimulates production of blood cells! Better than transfusions!"

Keram-Rei nodded frantically at her as she removed the syringes. Still, there were the mortars to take care of. Destruction wouldn't have worked, Restoration was out of the question. Conjuration and Alteration had no particular use, and that left him…

He tapped on the girl's shoulders, left Screaming-Eagle's tail next to its owner, and clutched at the Courier's throat.

His Pip-Boy kept on beeping.

"What the fuck are you doing?!" Phoenix screamed, panicked.

"Wait for my signal, then shout cease fire with the most desperate tone you can manage!" Keram-Rei ordered her. She managed a nod only after a pebble bounced off his pauldron. His hand and her neck glowed a faint white for a second, over the course of which he thought of the strongest winds, the greatest landslides, the Red Mountain's eruption, the most powerful Thu'um, the most thunderous storms.

The very mortar barrage that threatened to tear them apart.

"NOW!" He shouted, just as another round brought down part of the hillside with it.

Whatever sound came from Phoenix's throat, it wasn't possible for a human. Her shriek threatened to deafen him again, increased tenfold by the Illusion magic and more than enough to be heard by the soldiers at the fortification. Her mouth stopped shining when she closed it.

For the ensuing ten seconds, the mortar fire slowed down to a halt, the last shell exploding some seven hundred feet from the road. Keram-Rei sighed in relief, slung a half-conscious Screaming-Eagle on his shoulders like a lamb and picked her staff from the ground. With the strength enchantments on his armor, he hardly felt any weight.

"Wait, her tail!" Phoenix stopped him as she pointed at the bloody thing on the ground. "What are we going to do with it?"

"Worthless." Keram-Rei shook his head. "I can't heal her, and she won't be able to use magic for a long time. The soldiers are going to come here in less than a minute. You'll keep them busy while I circle the buildings and bring her to safety. You've got the tail; tell them you were walking with your pet or something when it began." He flashed her a grin. "Good luck."

Phoenix seemed to grimace and took the tail in her hands. As he sneaked off the road and into the craters, he heard her wail and sob with a wisp mother's despair.

Not long after he noticed with a little yelp of victory that Treads-In-Gloom couldn't reply, a jeep and two of the trucks came down the cracked path, loaded with soldiers. An exaggerated response maybe, but there's no such thing as enough safety.

Especially if something had survived sustained mortar fire.

* * *

When the convoy stopped, Keram-Rei slithered back onto the road and followed it to the highway and the car park. He went for the southern side, to the right, and crawled through the rusty wreckages. He knelt behind a van, and made a rapid assessment of the situation.

No patrolling soldiers could be seen on his side of the parking lot. Good. It meant the rest of them were hunkered down in the Hoover Dam Lodge. He could see the road that was supposed to bring him around the hill and back onto the path. It started just where the complex ended – perfect. There were no soldiers on his way, just a couple of men waiting next to a lit barrel. Getting past them wasn't going to be easy, but he could manage. He was a Nightingale, after all. Just… well, he'd never sneaked past anyone while wearing armor and carrying an unconscious female.

His Pip-Boy beeped just once.

Screaming-Eagle stirred and groaned softly.

Great.

Keram-Rei took her as delicately as possible, placing an arm under her back and one under her knee pits. He gave her his most reassuring smile when she opened her eyes. "I see you're awake."

Screaming-Eagle smiled back.

His spiked brows knitted deeply.

Alright, he could tell something was off right from the start. However stoic she might've been, she'd still gotten her tail sheared off – it hurt nearly as much as losing an arm. The best thing she could've done was gritting her teeth and pursing her lips, or she could've passed out again. But no, she gave him a broad smile, showing all her teeth, and looked at him through unfocused, drunken eyes. "_Heeeeey_ 'dere, han'shome…"

Keram-Rei's eye twitched. He sighed to let out his anger, and tried to remind himself it wasn't Phoenix's fault. The medicines must've made her completely insensible to the pain. Of course, Pre-War medicine was to thank for that. Why did everything have to be a drug back then?

She traced her fingers across his cheek, threatening to poke his eye out. "I… I'sh feelin' _shooooo_ good, an' happy, an' light like a _tiiiiiny_ Dragon!" Her smile turned into a pout, and she sniffed loudly. "An' very, _veeeery_ shad… 'dere'sh little fingsh cryin'… _eeveeeerywheeere_. Dey make me sho _shaaaaad_! Let'sh… 'elp 'em, _huuuuuuh_?"

"Screaming-Eagle, we can't help them right now." Keram-Rei said in a dramatic tone. A three year old would've punched him for talking like an idiot; she nodded gravely. "I promise you we will come back to help them. But right now, I want you to listen."

"Ya _prooooomiiiiiishe_?" Screaming-Eagle asked seriously, taking his lower lip between her index and thumb and bringing it up and down. If he managed to avoid killing her, maybe he could even hug Treads-In-Gloom. "Really _reeeeeeeaaaally_ promishe?"

He shook his head to make her let go of his lip. "I really, really promise. Right now, however, I will give you a very, _very_ important mission. Are you up to the task?"

"_Ooooooooooo' coouuurshe!_" She all but shouted. He hunched down to try and hide them from the NCR soldiers. "Wot ish it?"

"You need to stay silent and be really, really _quiet_." Keram-Rei commanded her in a hushed tone, not unlike when he did with his legionaries. "There's bad people in the buildings, and if you make a sound, they will punch all the little things and make them cry even more."

Screaming-Eagle gasped and drunkenly clasped her hands to her mouth. She brought them down a little to speak. "_Aaaaall_ ov' 'em?"

"_All _of them." He nodded grimly and grimaced. "The sand men are really bad people, and they will also turn you into a cheese statue if they find us. Shh."

She nodded hastily and put a finger in front of her mouth. "_Shhhhhhhhhh!_"

Spittle hit his snout and brow. Keram-Rei closed his eyes and sighed. Always better than tears and muffled screams of agony. Besides, she looked… happy. It wasn't natural, but at least she couldn't suffer in ungodly pain every waking moment.

He ignored Screaming-Eagle giggling and drawing strange patterns across his armor, face and mouth with her hands, and peeked over to the side of the van.

The soldiers were nowhere near the burning barrel.

His Pip-Boy beeped twice in rapid succession.

This was going to be tough. He drew in a deep breath, and focused. Life. He seeked life, breaths, heartbeats, twitches of muscle. "_Laas Yah Niir._"

The good news was there were no auras directly in front of him, nor at either side of the van.

The bad news was that the troopers had split up and they were approaching from both sides of the _parking lot_.

He had two options: he could play it safe, stay in the shadows and get out from the outer edges; or he could risk it, try to be as fast and silent as possible and walk right through the middle of the car park. Neither of the options was particularly appealing to him.

_Ah, fuck it._ He thought with a grin. _Nothing ventured, nothing gained, right?_

Keram-Rei held Screaming-Eagle closer to him as she licked his chestplate and slid through the shadows. He imagined each spot of sand was a concealed trap ready to spring, each small rock a boulder threatening to roll off a cliff, each piece of glass a trapdoor leading to nine feet-long spikes.

Alright, maybe he was overdramatizing things a bit - but being shot _and _alerting the mortars wasn't something he was really looking forward to.

He reached the closest car without a sound. No rifles had been cocked; the two were still walking. He put yet more distance between him and them, and finally reached the military truck and the jeep. They weren't so good as he'd first thought them to be, though. The NCR symbols had been painted with a spray can, and a quarter of the paint had been eaten away by rust. Well, it couldn't really be their main concern… and shouldn't even be his, for that matter.

Keram-Rei shook his head and got back on the move. Just another row of wrecks, and he would be back on the highway. From there, reaching the road was child's play. All the mortar crews' auras were stationed on roofs and higher parts of the ruins, leaving the eastern side completely unprotected. The perfect opportunity.

Screaming-Eagle squirmed in his arms. He looked down, mildly annoyed, to find her intently searching for his eyes and biting her lip. She looked desperate. "_Keeraam-Reeeeeei?_"

"What is it?" He asked, worried. There was a problem – pain, maybe?

"I… I've gotta _peeee_." She whispered. Gods, she looked like a child in this state. Why were people allowed to sell these things? "'Dere'sh a _biiiiiiiig_ cloud 'dat makesh '_sssssh_' shoundsh, she'sh _veeeery_ bad!"

Keram-Rei tried not to cry in frustration. "Can't you hold it until we get past the sand men?"

Screaming-Eagle looked unconvinced and on the verge of tears while she shook her head. "_'Meergenshyyyy!_"

For the love of the Divines, he thought this was going to be a great adventure, he didn't thing he was going to be supposed to look after an high or drunk (or both) Archmage that was about to piss herself. He didn't know if she could stand like this, so letting her try to do it was out of question. Her tail was supposed to come out of her pants, and taking those off was probably going to be a problem, both for the wound's situation and for the possible pain she could feel.

He inhaled deeply, then exhaled, and held her back a little higher and her legs a little lower. He needed to be ready for this one. _I hate my life._ "You'll have to pee yourself, I'm sorry."

A pout was the only warning he got.

Keram-Rei did his best to ignore the pungent smell, the warm feeling on his right forearm and the droplets sliding down his gauntlets. _I've been through worse, I've been through worse, I've been through worse._ He repeated like a mantra. It was true, he'd been through worse. That worse, however, meant horrible, not outright insane.

As he crept through the shadows like a ghost, he noticed with relief the wrecks weren't in the same direction as before.

The highway.

The soldiers were still around the back of the parking lot, the mortar crews couldn't see him, the rumble of two large engines and a smaller one got closer.

Keram-Rei broke into a run.

Whenever he told someone his armor was enchanted to increase the strength of the wearer, they always assumed this meant he could lift heavy things and punch harder. The thing non-magic folk didn't get, though, was the direct connection between 'strength' and 'muscle'. His upper body benefited from this just as his lower body did.

Even holding Screaming-Eagle like that, it only took him a scarce twenty seconds to get from the parking's entrance to the path through the hills. Despite an effort that would have killed any mortal, no matter race, sex or age, he was barely fatigued. He got past the hills and onto the road behind them, making sure not to fall into any crater and hit any rock. Easier said than done, but fortuitously enough most of the shells had exploded past the offroad path.

Screaming-Eagle, in the meantime, had remained completely silent. Not a whoop, not a yelp, not a giggle. Yet she was still alive, and she wasn't sleeping. She was just looking forwards and letting her tongue loll out of her mouth like a dog.

Keram-Rei almost ran past a small cabin just at the entrance of the docks. He stopped dead in his tracks, turned around, and simply walked at a reasonable pace towards it. His arms were starting to tire, and this looked like a decent place to rest a while.

He kicked the door open and off its hinges with a crack of shattered wood and entered the shack. It was a tiny wooden thing with its windows long since shattered and its walls and floor rotting to dust. Maybe just a guard's checkpoint, judging by the black thing on the floor that vaguely resembled a telephone, a mysteriously intact mug still resting on its side just next to it. But there was a small metal chair that hadn't rusted into nothingness, so he delicately set Screaming-Eagle on it.

"'Dat wash sho mush _fuuuuuuuun_!" She whooped drunkenly and nearly fell off. He held her in place and set the chair next to one of the walls. Her pupils were extremely wide, and she still reeked of urine, but she nonetheless tried to stand up and kiss him. "I… I like you, aaaaaan'… an' I think _yoouuuuu_ like _meeeeeeeeeee_!"

Keram-Rei sighed and knelt before her, trying to make her look into his eyes. "Screaming-Eagle, it's the drugs talking. Please, stay quiet. Let's wait for Phoenix, alright?"

Screaming-Eagle folded her arms on her lap and leaned forwards. She looked intently into his eyes, wobbling a little, and blinked. "I… I… I fink I feel funny."

"What do you mean, 'funny'?" He growled while trying to keep her steady. "You have to throw up?"

"N-no, not like 'dat…" She spluttered, shaking her head. "I mean, I feel funny in…" She looked around to make sure there wasn't anyone - like she could even _see_ someone past twenty feet. When she seemed satisfied, she brought her mouth to his ear. "In my… my _privy parts_."

Keram-Rei's eyes widened in realization and he took a few steps back. He held his hands up in a disarming gesture. "Screaming-Eagle, we'll wait for Phoenix and we'll… ah… figure this out together."

"Y'now, it'sh _shoooo_ weird…" Screaming-Eagle wondered aloud, confused. "I… I dun remember anyfing like… like _'diiiish_."

Not the right moment, _definitely_ not the right moment. He shook his head. "It's nothing, really."

She tilted her head and looked at him for the better part of a minute. Then, she gave him a broad, crooked smile. "Ya look _gooood_."

He could've sworn his Pip-Boy had beeped in laughter.

Keram-Rei swallowed. In any other situation, Screaming-Eagle saying something like that amounted to about half of his secret dreams come true. Right now, however, it felt abominable. Treads-In-Gloom would've liked it, but the only thing he felt was pity. This wasn't an Archmage; this was a drunk, drugged female that could think about as clearly as a Skooma addict. And yet, he had to keep her calm. But how?

He sighed and set his hands on her shoulders, looking fiercely into her eyes. This… wouldn't have been easy. "You don't."

Screaming-Eagle looked at him quizzically. Her lips then quivered, and her eyes teared up. "W-w-why?"

"Because right now, you look horrible." Keram-Rei snorted in fake contempt. "I can't stand the thought of looking at you. Why? Becase you're ugly. You're simply ugly."

She eyed him with contempt and hatred at first, then with a look of betrayed trust. She started sobbing and wailing loudly, covering her eyes and shaking her head.

Divines, he felt like utter shit. He drew small consolation from the fact she wouldn't even remember this had ever happened, but it still pained him to see her in such a miserable state. It might've been the chemicals talking, but he could sense there was a tiny speck of truth in what she'd said. Adding that to what he thought about her…

Yes, he pretty much felt like shit.

His hearing membranes snapped to attention. There were boots grinding dirt under them – belonging to one person. He looked out, and saw a lonely feminine figure walking in the dark, headed his way.

Explaining would have been hard.

The girl noticed them and picked up some pace. She entered the small cabin, glanced at Screaming-Eagle sobbing on her chair, then at Keram-Rei. Only now he could see how bloodstained her leather armor was.

"The fuck happened?" Phoenix murmured, a brow raised in question.

"'E'sh _meeeaaan_!" Screaming-Eagle moaned, pointing a shaky finger at him.

"Your medicines worked as a charm, with the only downside of making her high _and_ drunk." Keram-Rei explained with a sigh. "She has nearly revealed my position, she has pissed herself and on my arm, and she apparently got…" He coughed. "_Excited_. I needed to put her off."

Phoenix nodded slowly and looked at Screaming-Eagle, astonished. "She's wasted."

"That's why I need your help." Keram-Rei told her. "I want to give her something to clear up her mind, but I need you to hold her still. I'm sure she won't listen to reason at first, so you keep her steady, I make her drink a potion, and we're done."

"Got it." Phoenix said, giving him a thumbs-up. "Anything else?"

"As soon as she drinks it, put at least a hundred feet between yourself and us." Keram-Rei continued, grimacing. "If she were to know two people have seen her in this state… it would be mortifying for anyone, but it could be even worse for her – we've both seen how proud she can be at times. I don't need her depressed, or worse."

"Don't worry, I get it." Phoenix patted his shoulder, then winked. "And I'd say she might just be glad you were at her side, you know what I mean?"

Hadn't he been covered in scales, he would've blushed. He nodded hastily, and cleared his throat. "Y-yes, I think… that's, ah… good idea."

Phoenix chuckled and shook her head. "You know, for a great hero, you sure are shy around girls."

"Let's get to work, shall we?" Keram-Rei exclaimed, clasping his hands and changing matters entirely. In a situation like this, stuttering was the last thing he needed.

He knelt in front of Screaming-Eagle, still drugged and sobbing desperately, and shoved a hand inside of his satchel. An healing potion would've done the trick just fine, if the help he'd given to a few Riften junkies was anything to go by. He counted to five, and his fingers gripped around a small bottleneck. When he brought it out, he saw it was a tiny glass flask, its contents a bright red.

A cure for poison.

Phoenix got behind the mage, whispering what he assumed to be comforting words at her horns. Screaming-Eagle seemed to calm down a little and brought her hands down.

The Courier gripped them and took them behind the backrest.

"No! No! _Noooooo_!" Screaming-Eagle wailed and thrashed and kicked, weaker than a sickly child. "I dun wanna! No!"

Keram-Rei shook his head to ignore her words and opened the flask with his thumb. The cork fell to the ground without so much as a sound. Mustering all of his apathy, he used his left hand to clutch at her jaw and the right one to bring the potion to her mouth. Slobber dripped from her teeth and tongue, but he did his best to ignore the slimy feeling and stuffed the flask between her lips.

Screaming-Eagle shook her head and let out muffled whimpers in protest. Then she appeared to realize the potion was mostly made from soft fruits and mountain flowers, and started chugging down the contents with her eyes closed. In fact, she'd liked it so much he had to struggle to let her go of the empty flask.

"Phoenix, now go." Keram-Rei announced the girl, his face hard.

Phoenix gave him grin and winked. "She's all yours."

The moment the girl set foot out of the cabin, Screaming-Eagle gagged. She brought her hands to her throat and started coughing violently, up to the point she fell to her knees and on all fours. Her breath came ragged, and with another fit of cough she spat a little blood. Keram-Rei simply shook his head and took a couple of steps back. The things were stronger than it seemed.

Screaming-Eagle threw up on the floor.

His Pip-Boy beeped again.

The pool of sick was larger than he would've thought and, apart from a couple of splotches of blood, it was completely _pink_. If pure poison and venom could have had a smell, they would've probably reeked like her vomit. It had to be hallucinogens, and strong ones at that, too. She retched again, but this time only bile came out. At least this meant she was now clean.

And that meant agony.

Screaming-Eagle's shrill shrieks hurt a thousand times more than that mortar blast – and not only for his guilt at seeing her like this. They were so high in pitch and so damn _loud_ that he actually felt a trickle of blood fall from his right ear membrane.

And had she limited herself to screaming… she banged her fists and thumped her feet against the floorboard and the cabin's walls, threatening to _break through_ them. She rolled up on her own bile and poisons… he had to do something.

"Hey, hey, Screaming-Eagle!" He called, pinning her to the ground with a knee. She didn't stop squealing. "Don't move, you'll only make it worse!"

"MY TAIL!" She howled in despair. Her nails dug into the wooden floor and scratched long, mismatched lines in it. "MY TAIL! WHERE IS MY TAIL?!"

"I think I have some painkillers lying around, give me a moment!" Keram-Rei urged her frantically, holding her head down to keep her from doing more damage to herself. With his other hand, he tried to take a potion out of his satchel, but her cries of pain didn't help him focus. The first thing he took was a paralysis poison, followed suit by a stamina potion. And then a small, hourglass-shaped flask filled with milky pearl liquid appeared in his hands. "Drink this!"

Screaming-Eagle ripped it from his hands and downed it in one go. She let out a long, relieved breath afterwards, and smashed the bottle on the ground. "Th-thanks."

"This should keep the pain in check until it reaches tolerable levels." He sighed, sitting next to her and avoiding the pool of sick. His shoulders slumped in relaxation.

"What… what happened to my tail?" She asked, her voice trembling. He couldn't bring himself to look at her.

"It was ripped off by a mortar round, either by the blast itself or by the debris." Keram-Rei informed her. He rested his arm on his knee and shook his head. "Either I let you die with pride, or I let you live with shame. I chose the second."

"It wasn't your decision to make." Screaming-Eagle hissed, her eyes fixed into his, her expression harsh. Then, she softened up and cracked a smile. "Well, I can't say I really liked Black Marsh anyway. Only bad memories lie there."

"Oh, so you don't want to brutally eviscerate me for making you an outcast?" He managed, a brow raised in astonishment. "You aren't even mad?"

She ran a hand through her feathers, thoughtful. "I always preferred the Summerset Isles."

Keram-Rei threw his head back and laughed.

"What, do you find it funny?" Screaming-Eagle asked, chuckling. "What's wrong with Summerset?"

He had to wait a good minute before calming down. Then, he looked into her eyes, grinning. "That was the exact same thing I thought."

For the first time, he saw and heard her laugh. It was a delicate and melodic sound, like anything else about her. The way she moved when she laughed, her tone, her smile, her quiet snorts…

"What happened?" Screaming-Eagle asked him as soon as she could talk. "I don't remember anything, only… _pain_. I passed out after you told me you were sorry."

"Way to break the mood, eh?" Keram-Rei scoffed, then turned serious once again. "I had to cauterize your wound, or else you would've bled out. After that, Phoenix used some chemicals and medicines to let you recover from the bloodloss and heal the stump. They… worked. To a certain extent."

She turned on the side to better look at him, puzzled. "Why is that?"

"The least horrible thing soaking your robes is blood." He told her with a grimace. "As I said, the medicines worked, but they had a side effect. They acted as some sort of drugs. I've people better off eating a bowl of moon sugar, Screaming-Eagle. Whoever I was carrying, it wasn't you."

Screaming-Eagle closed her eyes, took in a deep breath, and nodded. It might've been her way of fighting back tears, as far as he was concerned. "I see. A-and… does Phoenix know about it?"

"No, I'm the only one who's seen you." Keram-Rei lied calmly. That felt surprisingly easy. "I don't want to remember what you said and what you did, it was… as I said, it wasn't you. You can figure out the major problems, however."

"I have… I have vomited and… and wet myself, have I?" She continued. Her voice was strained. She could've been shaking.

He sighed, ignoring his Pip-Boy. "Yes."

"Can you… Keram-Rei, please, could you help me?" Screaming-Eagle asked him. It sounded more like a forced plea, although a very composed one at that. Despite all, she was still keeping it together after a complete humiliation. "I… I can't stay like this."

Keram-Rei unslung her staff from his back and handed it to her. "We could do it together."

"Thank you, but… I can't." She confessed, taking the staff back in her hands. "I'm feeling too weak."

"That's alright, I know a minor Alteration spell anyway." He reassured her, and focused on both hands. An ultramarine glow appeared in his palms. He recalled the flow of the rivers, the stillness of the lakes, the waves of the seas, the depths of the oceans. He called upon the water that cleansed all filth and turned all muck into nothingness.

Small waves of light washed over the floorboard and dissolved all the dust, the bile, the blood, the pure poison that lay on the ground. Then they gently crashed against Screaming-Eagle's prone form like true waves did against reefs, and the encrusted sludge of her bodily fluids simply vanished. For good measure, he too lay down on the floor and let the magic clean him of all the grime that had gathered in that single day.

As a little touch, he added the scent of the sea to their odorless bodies.

Keram-Rei sat up again, and looked at the mage. "So, what do you think of the spell?"

"The way you cast it, I'd say you wanted to impress me." Screaming-Eagle said with a grin. "It was nice, but you'll have to do better."

"Just wanted to leave a good impression." He shrugged.

How a frilly cleaning spell could leave a good impression on an Archmage was something he'd definitely need to think about later.

Keram-Rei looked at her intently, and held his hand out. "Can you stand up?"

"I… could try." Screaming-Eagle considered. Instead of stubbornly getting to her feet on her own, though, she extended her hand and accepted his help.

He made her sit up at first with a pull. "Are you feeling dizzy?"

"No, no, I'm fine. For now." She reassured him, waving him off. "Standing is going to be a problem, though."

"Don't worry." Keram-Rei grunted, and helped her to her feet.

Screaming-Eagle stood for about two seconds before she inevitably wobbled, lost her balance and fell forwards. He readily took her in his arms, set her to her feet and wrapped one of her own around his shoulders.

She began to protest. "Don't worry, I've got my staff and I can walk on my own, there's no need for you to-"

"Pardon my Bretonian, but like shit you can walk on your own." Keram-Rei retorted, taking slow steps for her not to fall again. "Come on, I know you've been as proud as could be up until now, but you need some help. You'll get used to the lack of tail soon enough. Until then, don't you dare doing things alone. Chances are you'll fall down and get stuck."

Screaming-Eagle shook her head, but didn't pull away. "I could always crawl…"

"If you like red ants, sure." He said as nonchalantly as possible, hiding his smirk.

That made her feathers raise and her eyes widen. "R-red ants?"

"Sure, the desert's full of those!" Keram-Rei cheerfully replied. "Why, what's the matter? Don't you like the feeling of thousands of tiny little legs crawling all over you at night, while you're sleeping and you don't know where they're going to end up? Maybe inside of your body, or mouth, or ears, or any other-"

"Stop it!" Screaming-Eagle yelped, frightened, her eyes closed shut. "By the Gods, don't speak another word or I'll flay you alive!"

He burst into laughter.

"Hey, where the fuck had you two gone?" Phoenix called from a small wooden building, jumping down a nearby fence as soon as they got outside. "I was getting tired of looking for you. How did the sneaking go?"

"We've been sneaky enough, I guess." Keram-Rei lied again. And there it was, the little lump of remorse forming in his throat for basically making fun of Screaming-Eagle.

"Well, that's perfect, because while you two were busy doing… whatever it is you do, I found the boats!" Phoenix announced, beaming. The moonlight shone on her unusually white teeth. "They were here all along!"

"How very fortunate." Screaming-Eagle muttered. "And tell us, are they in good conditions?"

"Good?" Phoenix repeated, amused. "They're goddamn _perfect_. Not a hole in them."

"Then let's get moving." Keram-Rei decreed, extending his free arm forward in encouragement. "Bring us there."

Phoenix nodded with a snort and turned around, strolling at a reasonable pace. They managed to keep up pretty well, and Screaming-Eagle was actually a little steadier than before. He could see the boathouse, not too far from them, just after a tiny parking lot and before the ruined docks. It was a small wooden cabin on the shore of Lake Mead, painted a light blue that had all but faded away. It had a fisherman's hut feeling to it, although he doubted people actually _fished_ in Lake Mead before the war.

Phoenix pushed the doors open, spun around and spread her arms with a broad grin. Behind her, half hidden by the gloom, were two wooden rowboats, unpainted and unmarked. "So, what do you think?"

"Those things are simply awful." Screaming-Eagle sighed, shaking her head. "But they're boats. We need them."

Keram-Rei noticed his Pip-Boy beeping repeatedly.

"Hey, what's wrong with your Pip-Boy?" Phoenix asked, suspicious. "Sounds like you're getting text messages."

The Pip-Boy beeped twice.

"It's nothing." Keram-Rei lied nonchalantly, then decided he could add a little bit of truth to it. "It started doing it during the mortar strike."

Phoenix crossed her arms on her chest and snorted, her head tilted. "It started drawing dicks?"

"Fucking asshole." Keram-Rei cursed under his breath. Like Oblivion that bastard was getting out of his Pip-Boy.

It beeped again.

"Wait, it's an actual message." Phoenix giggled, and took his left arm in her hands.

She blanched.

Keram-Rei sighed. "Phoenix, what does it read?"

The girl said nothing. She moved the screen for him to see, and he growled in rage.

'HE'S LYING.'

Silence ensued for severals seconds. That bastard necromancer wanted them to hate him and believe him insane, then. If the dick was unhappy, then he had to be unhappy, too.

"Keram-Rei, what are you hiding from us?" Screaming-Eagle finally demanded, cold. Her voice dripped with mistrust.

"Alright, do you want the insane truth, or do you want a believable lie?" Keram-Rei sighed, massaging his forehead. He could start to feel the beginning of an headache behind his eyes. "You aren't going to believe either anyway."

"I am a mage, my main goal is knowledge." Screaming-Eagle stated bluntly, and prudently sat on a dusty chair. He couldn't bear her stare. "Share the truth with us."

"Whatever she said." Phoenix whimpered hastily. She was terrified.

"You remember the necromancer I told you about, right?" Keram-Rei asked them rhetorically. They both nodded. "Well, after I wrongfooted the wrong Goddess-or-whatever-it-is of Dreams, it turns out he'd done worse. But we've both been declared sworn enemies." He took in a deep breath. "As a punishment, he lives inside of my head. He's an asshole, he's a maniac, and while half of what he says are wisecracks, the other half is plainly insane." He shot a glance at Phoenix. "He wanted me to rape you." He turned to Screaming-Eagle. "And you. When the mortars hit, I locked him in my Pip-Boy, where he can only write bullshit I can perfectly ignore."

Surprisingly, Screaming-Eagle cupped her chin and ultimately nodded. "That… strangely sounds like Vaermina's modus operandi. What's his name?"

Keram-Rei shook his head and shrugged. "He's an old guy, I don't even think this is his true name. But I know him as-"

His Pip-Boy beeped. When he looked at it, it read 'TREADS-IN-GLOOM, BABY'

"Never heard of him." Screaming-Eagle shook her head. "I believe he hasn't caused trouble where I come from."

Phoenix wiped the sweat from her brow and rubbed the heels of her hands against her eyes. "Fuck, I… alright, this is… bad. Like… _real_ bad."

Keram-Rei chuckled and looked at her with a grin. "Come on, don't worry. In this state, he's _weak_."

'TOO FUCKING WEAK. FOR NOW.' The green text flashed on his Pip-Boy. 'I'LL KILL HIM. THEN I'LL TAKE HIM. AND I'LL RAPE BOTH OF YOU. THEN I'LL KILL YOU TOO. AND I'LL FUCK THE CORPSES. AND I'LL REVIVE THEM AS PLEASURE THRALLS. WE'LL SEE WHO'S WEAK THEN.'

"Oh, he's getting really edgy." Keram-Rei scoffed. He looked first at Screaming-Eagle's raised brow, then at Phoenix's mask of terror. "Ignore him, he's harmless."

Quite predictably, Treads-In-Gloom did the most dangerous and will-breaking thing he could do, a phrase that would've haunted his dreams for years to come and would've turned any iron-willed men into madmen.

'YOUR MOTHER'S HARMLESS.'

Phoenix finally cracked a smile. "He really, really sucks at being scary if you let him go on, doesn't he?"

His Pip-Boy beeped, but Keram-Rei imagined the reply and ignored it. He was hardly original in that way.

"Couldn't you just toss it away?" Phoenix asked him, shrugging. "Get rid of him, I mean."

"No, he is linked to Keram-Rei's soul, he would come back . with a vengeance." Screaming-Eagle replied for him with a shake of her head. "Vaermina is many things, but stupid isn't one of those. A Daedric Prince would hardly overlook such details anyone could think about… well, there is Sheogorath, of course. But the Prince of Madness probably wouldn't make you capable of thinking about anything after a punishment."

"Anyway, I'm stuck with him, it doesn't matter much." Keram-Rei waved them off. "I've gotten used to him. Now, shouldn't we call back to our new friends? If we have to get there by boat, it's going to take more than an hour."

"I… think I can open a link." Screaming-Eagle nodded. "You'll talk to them, though."

"Sounds good to me." Keram-Rei gave her a thumbs-up. He turned to Phoenix. "Phoenix, make sure the boats get into the water without destroying them. I'll row one, you'll row the other."

The Courier gave him a nod, but not before she giggled and grabbed a rope.

Behind him, he heard a faint sound, accompanied by Screaming-Eagle's cough. "I'll be ready in a minute."

Keram-Rei nodded.

Who knew how these guys were?


	7. Into Arizona

Naeera sat quietly in contemplation.

It was a beautiful night. The gentle wind caressed her grey scales, and Eyes-Of-Silver didn't so much as make a sound while he worked on those otherwordly human contraptions. Weren't it for the devastating war that had nearly destroyed the world some two centuries ago, she might've actually liked the desert.

But of course, all things had to come to an end.

She opened and rolled her eyes at the sound of the communication spell reaching them, shot a glance at Eyes-Of-Silver (who had perked up his head from his work) and gave him a nod. He nodded back.

"**Can they hear me?**" A male voice asked, confused.

"**Yes, they can.**" Another voice sighed, female, familiar. Screaming-Eagle sounded farther from the spell than the last time.

"**Oh, well then!**" The first voice exclaimed. In an instant, the shimmering form of an armored male took form before them. His posture had a certain security to it, that of a warrior, or a Legion officer. Or both.

Naeera smirked with a raised brow. He didn't look bad, not at all.

"And you must be Keram-Rei!" Eyes-Of-Silver cheerfully greeted him in his demon-deep voice. "As you may already know, I am Eyes-Of-Silver, and she is Naeera. Honoured to make your acquaintance, albeit at a distance."

"**Nice to meet…**" Keram-Rei began, then nearly jumped out of his skin. "**Holy shit, you're fucking **_**huge**_**!**"

Naeera chuckled. No uncertain terms - she was starting to like him.

"Again..." Eyes-Of-Silver sighed. "Yes, well, apart from my most unusual size, is there anything you needed to tell us?"

"**It's going to take me more than an hour to get to you.**" Keram-Rei replied, suddenly serious. "**Screaming-Eagle is too injured as of now.**"

"Injured?" Naeera asked, frowning in disbelief. "And what injury is too great for an Archmage to heal?"

Keram-Rei looked into her eyes, harsh. "**How much could you do if you had your tail sheared off? It's a miracle she's established this link.**"

Naeera froze solid.

She'd lost her tail? Gods, this meant trouble, both for her and for anyone who even _talked_ to her. It was the highest shame and dishonor an Argonian could possibly receive.

Yet Eyes-Of-Silver seemed perfectly fine with that. He just nodded. "I know the feeling, give her my sympathies."

"**Wait, really?**" Keram-Rei asked in complete surprise, when he finally seemed to actually _notice_ Eyes-Of-Silver. "**By Arkay, you've got a **_**mechanical **_**arm! And your tail's made of **_**metal**_**! That…**" He paused for a second, seemingly to gather his thoughts."**That's the coolest thing I've ever seen!**"

It pretty much summed up Naeera's first thoughts on the matter. _Alright, I definitely like this guy._

"I am not entirely sure anybody even considered telling me _that_." Eyes-Of-Silver frowned, puzzled. "But… thank you, I suppose."

"**Nah, don't mention it.**" Keram-Rei waved him off. He was about to turn, when his gaze shifted on Naeera's feet. Then, he glanced at Eyes-Of-Silver's. He opened and closed his mouth a few times, but no sound came for a while. "**Ah, uhm… what's up with your feet?**"

"You're Man-Footed, we're Dragon-Footed, it's as simple as that." Naeera shrugged, flexing her talons. "Don't worry, it's okay if you've never seen anyone like us."

Unlike most Argonians, she and Eyes-Of-Silver shared the so-called 'Feet of the Dragon'. It was a cool name for 'chicken feet', in her opinion. The structure of the femur was normal, whereas the tibia was bent slightly backwards and was shorter. Then, instead of the toes, another, long bone continued to their actual feet. They resembled a chicken's feet, in a way, if chickens had five-inch curved talons and scale-covered digits. Her claws were about the size of daggers; Eyes-Of-Silver's index talons were small scythes.

"Anything else that you require of us?" Eyes-Of-Silver asked, mildly interested.

"**Ah, no, nothing.**" Keram-Rei shook his head. "**I should get there in… less than three hours, surely. See you there.**"

Keram-Rei vanished.

"He and Screaming-Eagle are _nothing_ alike." Naeera finally commented, rubbing her chin and grinning. Keram-Rei's expressions and reactions didn't feel as fake and pretentious as Screaming-Eagle's had been – they were genuine. He seemed like a pretty nice guy.

"Oh, sure, much more interesting than the female, if you ask me." Eyes-Of-Silver agreed. Then, he chuckled. "I am not entirely sure, but I believe he likes her."

Naeera raised a brow. "Really?"

"I am certain." Eyes-Of-Silver confirmed with a curt nod. "As certain as I am that your pheromones are just intense enough to suggest sexual desire towards me."

She laughed; it was a good way to hide her nervousness. _Werewolves._ "Wow, you're good." She said. She decided to have a little fun. "And tell me, why?"

"Oh, I am most definitely not that good, but I can try." He chuckled, and set all of his instruments and components on the ground, staring at her with his silvery eyes. It looked like he was attempting to gaze at her soul. "You are cheerful by nature, yet your laughter was forced. Fear, perhaps for my senses. You are afraid I might uncover something of your past from this… perhaps akin the way you looked at me and Keram-Rei. You seemed to consider us in a purely physical way, with desire… almost as if you were used to this." He grinned. "Tell me, were you a prostitute by chance?"

Naeera was paralyzed, her heart pounding in her chest, her eyes wide. Her smile had vanished. "H-how did… how did you…"

"How did I know?" Eyes-Of-Silver completed, a brow raised. "Your behaviour. You appear to be much jollier than your, ah… _colleagues_, but you did study us in a way that said 'how good would they be compared to my average customer?' 'Twas easy to notice. With your sudden panic, I am now certain of it. And the way you occasionally glanced at me to imagined just how proportionate would my body be was another factor." He shook his head and chuckled. "Get it out of your head."

For a moment, she looked at his scars. There were hideous gashes running across his entire head, maybe his entire body, and most of the spikes and horns were broken. Still, that added… something to him. It made him unique. He was kinda scary, but unique.

Then she noticed his words.

"Hey, what do you mean 'forget it'?" Naeera huffed and crossed her arms, offended. "You're too high and mighty for a prostitute?"

"Oh no, of course not." Eyes-Of-Silver said, a faint trace of amusement in his voice – mostly in his grin. "Quite the contrary, in fact. That is the exact reason I would avoid mating with you."

Naeera began to narrow her eyes, then decided against it and just frowned. "What?"

Eyes-Of-Silver snickered silently and sighed. "In case you had not noticed, Naeera, I am eight feet tall and I exceed the five hundred pounds." He raised a brow. "You, on the other hand, are a measly five feet tall. I suspect you barely weigh _one_ hundred pounds. Surely mating is not so important to you as to have all of your bones shattered, now is it?"

"Oh, come on, like there aren't any ways around _that_." Naeera snorted, flicking her wrist just before replying. "I can stay on top."

Eyes-Of-Silver considered her for a moment. He shrugged. "You would still bleed to your death."

Naeera flashed him a predatory smirk and suppressed a giggle. "Yeah, you've got to make horses really uncomfortable, stallion."

"As a matter of fact, I do." Eyes-Of-Silver calmly answered. "Only… for drastically different reasons, I am afraid."

Naeera rolled her eyes and puffed out a breath. "Only male I find and you aren't in the mood… figures."

"If the question isn't too personal, and in which case I beg your pardon… how long have you been practicing your art?" Eyes-Of-Silver asked her after a while, delicate. Strangely so, in fact.

"I've grown up as an orphan, down in Riften." Naeera shrugged. She'd lost the count of how many had asked her the story for some roleplay. He, however, sounded genuinely interested… well, those others had been, too, but not because they cared for her. "I started as soon as I matured. And… I've quit some two years ago. I don't know, the money was good, and I had lots of fun, but… I felt like a piece of meat in the end, you know?"

Eyes-Of-Silver nodded gravely in understanding. "Completely opposite situation in my case, but I can perfectly relate to that." He snorted and grimaced, slowly shaking his head. "I had to take the utmost care when accepting an overly friendly female's invitation. Nord and Orcish damsels were the most adequate, and the only whose wishes I would indulge, for their height and build." He looked down let out a long breath. "Others… were not so fortunate. I should have learned to refuse much earlier."

Naeera's discomfort threatened to make her dizzy. Divines, if he only chose Orcs and Nords for a night of passion… well, maybe pushing him into accepting wasn't all that bright an idea.

"Oh well, be that as it may, I have grown wiser over the passage of time." Eyes-Of-Silver shrugged it off with a snort of laughter. "I never allow my instincts to take over the rational part of my mind. In any case, I find greater relaxation and self-accomplishment in a fight or when smithing."

"You're a smith?" She asked him, surprised. Well, the muscle was there, and the size. And the big hands. And… alright, no, there was little to be surprised of.

"One of the best in Tamriel, if not _the_ best." He nodded with a proud smile, and waved his left hand. It spewed out a little steam from the wrist and fingers as he flexed them. "Who do you think would have made this?" He waved his tail to show the ebony flail attached to it, a blunt mace as large as her head. "Or this? Or my armour and weapons?"

Naeera could perfectly see how. Not only had he replaced a limb and his tail (and that alone made him the best smith she'd ever heard of), but the level of detail put into those _and_ his equipment was astounding. She could get lost just by looking at her chestplate, or at his ebony left fingers, or at his tail's patterns. She saw Dragons, winds, Gods, warriors, armies, battles – and all perfectly refined, just like the finest bas-reliefs in the temples of the Imperial City. "That's… that's amazing."

"I might sin of arrogance a bit here, but… I know it." Eyes-Of-Silver said, beaming warmly. When she'd first seen him, she'd expected a bloodthirsty monster or a mindless brute… this guy spoke like a noble. And with a fancier accent. "If I may, however, I would say your armour is just as interesting. A Daedric artifact?"

"Well, related to Daedra, yes." She told him, vague. He would've probably gotten it by himself.

"You look the perfect thief to me, from the scales to the build and, finally, to your equipment." He observed. "An agent of Nocturnal? Perhaps one of the legendary Nightingales in person?"

Naeera frowned at his examination before shaking her head and holding her hands up. "I yield – this is just fucking creepy."

Eyes-Of-Silver boomed with laughter. Despite the deafening volume and a tone that would've made a Dremora shit his greaves, it was surprisingly friendly and jovial, and contagious.

She found herself chuckling along pretty soon.

When he stopped laughing, he still had his broad grin. "Listen, there certainly is a story behind that armor and its wearer – care to tell me?"

Naeera pouted and considered it, tapping her fingers on her lips. She'd melted a thousand men with that expression, but he just kept grinning as if she were another warrior like him. "I don't know, it's a pretty long story…"

"Well, one thing is for sure." Eyes-Of-Silver said, spreading his arms. "I'm not going bloody anywhere."

She gave him a nod and a smile. "Alright, but I warned you – long story. You'd better get back to working on your weapon, or it's going to stay like that for a long time."

* * *

Keram-Rei, even though his armor provided him all the strength and stamina he needed, was panting. _This is the last time a female tricks me into doing something stupid._

Phoenix had used the rope to tie the boats together and drag the second, empty one. There was a nifty set of paddles there, too. It was an ideal situation: he rowed the one with Screaming-Eagle, who was too weak at the moment, and Phoenix rowed the empty one.

But _no_, he had the enchanted armor. He could row one and tow the other, no problem.

They were almost on the Arizona side of Lake Mead, and the still waters glistened under the stars and the moonlight. The cliffs had to remain at least a hundred feet high for what felt like their entire span, but he'd seen a tiny little spot that was just about perfect for landing. Fortification Hill loomed behind them like a malevolent giant, ready to kill them and devour the bodies. If they got in, it was going to spit out their bones.

His Pip-Boy beeped; he ignored it.

"Divines be praised, we're almost there." Screaming-Eagle sighed. She was getting better and better, but a six year old could've still beaten her into coma. The things Phoenix had used were starting to work, and fast. It would've taken her a few days to walk again with just magic – with these medicines, a night's rest might've been more than enough, if she aided herself with her staff.

Phoenix scratched her hand, her eyes fixed on the Fort. "This… this was a mistake. I want to go back."

"Getting cold feet, Phoenix?" Keram-Rei teased her with a grin.

Screaming-Eagle stomped on his foot. He bit his tongue. She was still strong enough to hurt him.

"Please, please, just leave me back at the Lodge." Phoenix pleaded. She looked… frightened. Truly frightened. "I don't want to be here, I can't be here…"

"Phoenix, please, you have to understand we have to be quick about this." Screaming-Eagle said, taking the girl's hand into hers and locking eyes with her. "Keram-Rei will meet them, but I can't go anywhere." She smiled. "I'll stay with you."

He frowned slightly. Since when had Screaming-Eagle passed from frigid mage to big sister?

"You're right, you're right." Phoenix breathed, her eyes closed. She nodded. "I can do it. I'll stay here, you'll be with me, and we'll stay hidden. And they won't find us?"

Screaming-Eagle squeezed her hand. "Exactly."

_Fuck, I'm an idiot._ Keram-Rei cursed at himself for not realizing earlier. _Nipton._

He'd already forgotten they hated the Legion because of what they'd heard, but she hated it because of what she'd _seen_. The strongest of his legionaries – true Tamrielic warriors, not these sadistic monsters - would've been driven to insanity, the others would've taken their own lives. He? He would've eviscerated the entire state of Arizona with a spoon, but he couldn't hope to win against entire armies. Divines, men born and raised to fight, conquer and slaughter… the only thing these animals shared with the Imperial Legion was the name.

Phoenix looked relieved, and even went as far as to give them a smile. He noticed her hands were shaking.

His Pip-Boy gave a low beep.

"Oh, what the fuck does he want now?" Keram-Rei grumbled to himself, leaving the oars for a second to look at the message.

'LET ME OUT, PLEASE D':'

"Like Oblivion I will." He snorted at the device, banging it against the boat's side for good measure.

None of them felt like commenting. Keram-Rei just stuck to rowing again. He didn't want to stay in Arizona one second longer than he had to. Screaming-Eagle was probably keeping to herself. He understood females as much as he understood Dwemer Animunculi, but she was even harder to decipher than anyone he'd ever met. Phoenix... Phoenix was simply scared.

Silence was… it was strange. It had been a whole year since the last time he'd truly been in silence; he'd always had that raucous, raspy voice in his head either insulting him or keeping him company. And now that Treads-In-Gloom was grounded, he didn't even have that. He looked to the sky for… for what? He didn't know, but it felt good. To see the tiny pinpoints of light littering the heavens was something he'd never considered doing on his own. Little more than a year had passed since he'd gazed at the sky with his sister.

He couldn't suppress a smile. Little Aphatea… just two years younger than him. To an Argonian, they might've seemed like little more than one. She was the true dreamer between them: hotheaded, stubborn, and always ready to help… he couldn't recall how many thousands of Septims they'd lost because of pro bono work. Gods, she would have made for a terrible soldier. In fact, she might've been a pretty good Stormcloak. She would've probably ignored just how convenient the whole uprising was just because people needed help.

They had butted heads more often than not. He guessed brothers and sisters mostly worked that way.

The boat bumped into something.

Keram-Rei turned, and noticed they had reached the shore. How long had he been reliving the past?

Screaming-Eagle climbed out of the boat with care, leaning against the frame for support and holding a hand out for Phoenix. The girl took it and stood at her side. Yes, she was definitely acting the big sister now.

He sighed, dropped the oars into the rowboat and jumped out. Then, he dragged it (and the one behind) to the shore, just behind a large rock. They could've been easier to spot in the water, especially with the Fort standing less than three miles from there.

Keram-Rei glanced at the two females and motioned for them to follow. The path was steep, but they were already leaning against each other for support; one's physical, the other's moral.

It wasn't long before they reached the top of the climb. They found themselves just above the cliffs overlooking Lake Mead. The waters to the north, the Hoover Dam and the Fort to the west, more cliffs to the east…

And a camp a mile to the south.

No, such… such monster couldn't be simply called 'camp': it was a sea of crimson. Thousands of tents ran from just south of their position and up, back to Fortification Hill, uninterrupted. Thick walls of bent, rusty metal protected it from beast and man alike – in the Legion, there was no difference. Torches and braziers burned at the crossroads, and even at night he could perfectly see _contubernia_ of ten men marching through the dirt roads… he even saw an entire _centuria_ parading in what could've been a square.

He noticed with horror the round pens that stood out every four hundred feet or so – slave pens.

Sudden, primal unease clawed at Keram-Rei's gut. This… this was Caesar's Legion. And it was preparing for war. There had to live ten thousand men here, slaves excluded – the men and women at Hoover Dam couldn't have been more than three or four hundred with the unarmed engineers, if the space inside of the Dam was to be held in account.

And this was just the front. How many men were waiting for Caesar's order back in Arizona? A hundred thousand? Divines, the Imperial Legion had once numbered half a million men, reserves included, but it was rare for engagements to involve more than three thousand legionaries. This wasn't a Legion, this was a barbaric horde – even the Stormcloaks had good reasons.

These men stood for plunder, rape, hatred and terror.

"We must get back, please." Phoenix all but sobbed, her breathing irregular. "Please, don't leave me here…"

"We aren't leaving you, Rebecca." Keram-Rei stated, determined, and set a hand on her shoulder. Calling her Phoenix seemed inappropriate now. She wasn't a cheerful courier now, she was just a terror-stricken girl – she was just Rebecca McKnight of Redding, California. "I promise I'll be back as soon as possible, and I'll have two more to join us – to join _you_. We've made a promise, and we stand by your side."

Phoenix smiled and snivelled, nodding. "Alright. We'll be fine, then."

Keram-Rei smiled back and turned around, a hand on his sword hilt. Things were going better than he'd expected.

"In the name of great Caesar, don't move!"

He stopped immediately and slowly held his hands up. He was no more than a step away from Phoenix and Screaming-Eagle, and only now he noticed the sound of boots crunching the gravel behind them.

They'd been followed.

"So, the profiligates now resort to weak girls and filthy mutants." The legionary continued, his voice muffled, his sneer audible. He couldn't turn, not if he wanted them to get out of there alive. "From what pits of hell do you lizards come from?"

Keram-Rei's hands snapped towards the bastard, his teeth bared and his eyes narrowed. "Do not call us _lizards_."

The legionary snorted, his face hidden by kerchief and a pair of goggles. His armor was made of mismatched leather pieces and red fabric, his weapon an old double-barrel shotgun pointed at the females. "I call you what I will, _monster_."

Phoenix's expression was one of pure horror.

"Have you lost your tail, scaled sow?" The man observed, amused, and poked the barrel of his shotgun at Screaming-Eagle's stump of tail. She grunted and closed her eyes shut. "I have faced more fearsome beasts than you, or your male master."

Keram-Rei clenched his fists. He was going to bite out this motherfucker's throat the moment he lowered his gun.

"And a female, actually useful…" The legionary considered, thoughtful. "You look old enough to bear children, NCR whore."

Tears fell from Phoenix's closed eyes.

"Yes… just old enough and healthy, so that you may give the Legion fine soldiers." The man stated, a hand on his shotgun, the other on her neck. "Perhaps I could… inaugurate you, killed the abominations."

Keram-Rei moved to take his sword, but the shotgun barrel moved to Screaming-Eagle's guts. He growled in frustration, and raised his hands once again.

"Not so fast, beast." The legionary snarled. Beast, he called him_._ Then, he traced his hand down Phoenix's breasts, and gripped. The girl shuddered.

"Let her go." Keram-Rei threatened, his fists balled and useless above his head. "Right now."

His Pip-Boy beeped once.

Phoenix looked at it, and her expression lost all emotion, all fear, all anxiety.

She let out a deep breath and opened her eyes again.

Keram-Rei hid a grin. _Treads-In-Gloom, I might actually forgive you._

The man clutched at the girl's femininity, completely focused on her. "Do you like that, whore?"

Phoenix howled in fury.

With one fluid motion, she ripped the Dragonbone sword from Keram-Rei's scabbard and slashed at the legionary's shotgun arm, hacking it in two at the elbow. The weapon discharged on the ground, and both the stump and the cut limb began to spurt out warm, crimson blood.

The legionary screamed in anguish.

"DIE, DIE, DIE!" Phoenix kicked him away with another shriek and tore away his other arm – this time at the shoulder. The sound of the blade running through flesh and muscle like butter was disturbing, even more so than that of the drops of blood falling to the ground and painting the sand red.

The girl and the man's screams merged – one of unbridled rage, the other of agonizing pain.

"DIE, MOTHERFUCKER! MONSTER!" Phoenix screeched, swept the blade downwards and cut the legs from underneath him, shearing the femurs in two. The legionary was reduced to a torso and a head, and yet he still squealed. Keram-Rei found himself grimacing. "SCREAM, SCREAM LIKE THEY DID!"

"SQUEAL LIKE A PIG!" The Courier opened a gash across the man's belly, and the intestines spilled out. The intense smell of entrails filled the battlemage's nostrils and made him gag. He always went in for clean kills, messy ones only if the target was certain to die in seconds. But this…

Phoenix stabbed at the chest, at the neck, at the head… at the groin. Even after the miserable wretch had died, she still stabbed and hacked and tore, screaming. The smell of blood mixed with that of faeces, bile and urine. His head spun, he felt like throwing up.

Keram-Rei grabbed the girl by the shoulders and dragged her away from the… the bloody heap of flesh, viscera and bone. He pried the sword from her hands and sheathed it back, then turned her around to look into her eyes. "Rebecca, he's dead, stop it!"

"HE MUST PAY!" Phoenix screamed at him, and wriggled away, crawling back to the mangled corpse.

Keram-Rei refused to believe his eyes.

The girl ripped the entrails from the legionary with her _bare hands_. She gripped the intestines and began to pull, still screaming at the corpse. Gods, she pulled and pulled and pulled. The noise, the smell… it was surreal, it simply couldn't _be_. And yet there she was, covered in blood and gore, taking out whatever she could from the chest cavity for her to toss away and wail at in fury.

Keram-Rei snarled and ran back at her, locking his arms around her chest and lifting her off the ground with a grunt.

"NO, HE'S STILL ALIVE!" Phoenix screamed. She thrashed and kicked at him, but he held her tight. "HE'S STILL ALIVE, STILL LAUGHING! LISTEN TO HIM!"

"REBECCA, HE'S DEAD!" Keram-Rei roared in her ears, furious at her outrage. "YOU'VE BEEN MAIMING A CORPSE – HE'S DEAD! DO YOU UNDERSTAND?! DEAD! "

Phoenix fought him back a little, then slowly and steadily stopped. His breath still heavy, he sat her on a rock and glared at her.

She curled up into a ball, brought her bloody hands to her eyes and sobbed desperately.

Keram-Rei looked at her and grimaced. That legionary had incarnated everything she hated and feared, he had incarnated her nightmares, her memories of Nipton. Was… was her terror rooted so deep inside of her? Fuck, he couldn't even begin to imagine what was going on inside of her head.

He felt Screaming-Eagle's hand on his pauldron, delicate but sure. "If that's what the Legion has done to a girl like her, I am beginning to think that man deserved it all. Do not pity him, he deserves none."

"Screaming-Eagle, she… _fuck_, I've seen trolls and bears do the same to people." He muttered, disgusted. "What is wrong with her?"

"Keram-Rei, I'll do what I can, you can't." She stated sternly, lifting her hand off his shoulder and limping to the girl's side. She was still crying and wailing in despair. "You must gather Eyes-Of-Silver and Naeera and bring them here at once."

Keram-Rei nodded once, newfound determination making its way through him. "I will."

"And, Keram-Rei?" Screaming-Eagle called, hesitant.

"What is it?" He asked.

She looked into his eyes. He saw worry. "I won't be able to hide you this time – be careful."

Keram-Rei clenched his left fist and grinned fiercely. "I will."

Arvak's hooves drew closer and closer. When his horse had slowed down just enough not to kill him, he jumped on his back and slammed his heels into the beast's side as hard as he could.


	8. Ancient Shadow

"… And that's how we got Mercer Frey, took the Eyes of the Falmer and brought back the Skeleton Key." Naeera finished, her voice a little hoarse. She'd told the tale and answered questions for about an hour, after all. "I told you it was a long story."

Eyes-Of-Silver, although listening to her, had disassembled and reassembled countless contraptions as she'd spoken. At the moment he was working with a weapon that must've weighed as much as her. It was big, bulky, and it had not one, not two, but _six_ barrels. Why would anyone need _six_?

He nodded, spun the firing mechanism once with his hand, and raised his eyes. The only thing she could see were the friendliness and childish curiosity behind them. "And so you drank from the Ebonmere and became an agent of Lady Nocturnal herself, eh? Very few mortals can say the same."

"I don't really care about that, to be honest." She admitted with a shrug. "Just as I bet you don't care about being Hircine's Champion."

"That is… true, yes." He confirmed, focusing back on the weapon. "To be honest, I hope not to spend my eternal afterlife in his Hunting Grounds. I am not as savage as most of my brethren." He gave her a guilty little grin. "And between you and me, I liked Sovngarde better."

"Oh, you tell me." Naeera waved him off. "The Evergloam is just… creepy."

Eyes-Of-Silver chuckled. Then he slid the last piece into place, beaming. "Ah, the concept is so simple, and yet the realization and functioning are so amazingly complex, even futilely so… brilliant, simply brilliant!" He raised his eyes. "What do you think, Naeera?"

"What do I think about… what?" Naeera retorted, an uncertain smile upon her gray lips. "Your gun?"

"No… well, yes, but not entirely." Eyes-Of-Silver said. He cleared his throat and spread his hands. "I would have liked your opinion on the world we find ourselves in. Its technology, its history, its repository of knowledge. What do you think?"

Naeera reflected on it for a few long moments. There were many things to say about this world, this 'Earth', she didn't even know where to begin. What she had been told – or rather, what she had overheard – was something she wouldn't have dreamed of in her wildest fantasies. She couldn't even imagine what sort of things she was going to see. Cities, medicines, people, clothes, vehicles, weapons… mostly ruins and wrecks, though.

She nodded once and sniffed. "I think the humans from around here have to be the dumbest motherfuckers I've ever heard of."

Eyes-Of-Silver opened his mouth to say something. Instead, he blinked and frowned. "And… why is that?"

"You know, I don't think destroying their entire world is something a smart folks would do." Naeera chuckled, mimicking the giant's gesture. "I mean, sure, they discovered so much about pretty much everything… then they did _this_." She shrugged with both arms extended. "I'm not expecting anything more than a worldwide Helgen. Raiders, ruins and dead people."

Eyes-Of-Silver gave her a hesitant nod. "That is certainly one way to put it, yes. Although, I would rather focus on the more advanced aspects of the civilization that once ruled the Earth… mastering the technologies of this world. I believe it would be most satisfying to uncover their secrets."

Naeera's eyes were drawn towards the weapon he held in his lap – one of the many he'd perfectly disassembled and reassembled during their permanence outside of the Vault. "I'd say you've mastered a lot of secrets for today, don't you agree?"

"Oh, these?" Eyes-Of-Silver asked, gesturing to the pile of assorted killing machines behind him. "These are but mechanical weapons, all of them, except for a few whose principles escape my current understanding of things – not to say they are not astounding. No, no, I am talking about the grandest advancements." He smiled. "Robotics, ballistics, medicine, polymer creation, hydraulics, electronic systems… these are what I am looking forward to, Naeera."

"Wow… uhm, good luck with that, then." Naeera mumbled, not quite sure on how to answer to that. If he managed to do that, he would've officially been the smartest person she'd ever met.

Not that she'd ever met any geniuses in her brothel, but still.

"You have my thanks." Eyes-Of-Silver replied, nodding slightly and extending his arm to pick another weapon.

She didn't really care at this point, he'd toyed with at least a dozen of the most disparate things she'd ever seen. She tapped her fingers on her chin in boredom, when an idea made her brows shoot up. "Hey, what's your story?"

He cleared his throat – it looked like he wanted to hide how he had recoiled at the question. "Pardon me?"

"I said, what's your story." Naeera repeated. Slowly. "You've asked mine, now it's my turn to ask yours."

"Oh, it would be extremely boring if compared to that of a thief, I assure you." Eyes-Of-Silver tried to dissaude her. "I would not want to-"

"Eyes-Of-Silver, knock it off; you're a fucking _werewolf_." She interrupted him, almost laughing. "How boring can the story of a giant werewolf be?"

"I assure you, it can be pretty boring." He smiled with a shake of his head. This time, it was… colder.

It was the time to play it her way. Eyes-Of-Silver was a male, and a warrior, and she was sure there was a part of the werewolf that made him more instinctive, gave him some sort of 'alpha male sense'. Naeera rolled her eyes and looked at her nails. "What a shame… and here I thought someone like you had a great tale to tell."

Eyes-Of-Silver snorted in amusement. "I thought I had already clarified that to you: you are not going to deceive me into talking."

"Oh, come on!" She groaned in exhasperation, dropping her mask. "Tell me how you became a werewolf, at least?"

"I was hunting and I was bitten years ago, simple as that." He shrugged her off. Then, he grinned. "The real question would be how I honed my skills and senses, however."

Naeera's eyes lit up with expectation. "Really?"

"No." Eyes-Of-Silver bluntly dismissed her. "Please understand that, unlike you, I am not very inclined to talk about my past with a complete stranger."

"It's got something to do with your accent." She stated, almost without thinking.

He tensed, and glared into her eyes. He looked like he could tear her head off. "Do not say that _ever again_."

Naeera shuddered, and considered the options. The accent was fancy, but it was rare to find. He sounded like… like a Morrowind noble, perhaps one of the southern lords, the ones that-

Oh. Oh, _shit_.

"I see you understand." Eyes-Of-Silver growled wolfishly. He was getting… scary. Really scary, as a guy his size and build should have been. His lips had peeled back from his fangs, and his eyes had narrowed to tiny slits of silver. "Desist. _Now._"

She brought a hand to her mouth. "By Nocturnal, if you've grown up in Morrowind…"

His smile returned in a few seconds. "Now, shall we both go back to minding our own businesses?"

"But being a werewolf's got nothing to do with _that_." Naeera retorted almost instantly. He might have annoyed him with her questions, but it was always better than pissing him off. "That's got more to do with Skyrim, right?"

"You are correct." Eyes-Of-Silver said simply. Then, he sighed. "You are not going to give up, are you?"

She gave him her best childish smile. "Exactly."

"Fine… I would feel horrible about ripping your throat out anyway." He chuckled, and she joined him. He… he wasn't serious, she was sure of it. She hoped. "The place where I became a true werewolf and learned how to use my new abilities was Whiterun."

"Wait, Whiterun?" Naeera interrupted him. "That doesn't make any sense. It's a big city – there's nearly a hundred thousand people there!"

Eyes-Of-Silver flashed her a predatory grin. "I understand you have never heard the stories about the Companions, then. Let me enlighten you."

* * *

"Faster, Arvak!" Keram-Rei spurred Arvak, almost snarling into his skull. "Come on, boy! You've run for centuries, is this the best you can do?"

His steed's echoing neigh was the only response he needed.

The endless expanse of sand and dead shrubs rolled before him in a blur. The wind whipped at his face. He didn't know how long he'd been riding, but it felt like too damn long. The thought of Screaming-Eagle and Phoenix being so close to a place like the Fort only added to his worry. Why did he have to leave them? Why couldn't those other two come on their own? One was a Nightingale, the other was a war machine – what sort of trouble could've they run into? They had far better chances than Screaming-Eagle and Phoenix had.

Of course, they didn't know _where_ they were; the Overseer was dead, and she was the only one worth the suffering. Chances were they only knew they were in a place called 'United States of America'. Besides, he doubted a giant and a thief could pull off a Memory Tear spell. What if he had just told them to go north? They would've likely followed the road right into the Fort or, if they were lucky, Hoover Dam. Either by an entire army or by snipers and artillery, they would've died.

Keram-Rei gritted his teeth and tightened his grip on Arvak's bones. He could see a mountain range extending to the east and west of him, but fortunately he knew which of the eastern peaks was Mount Tipton. Maybe… maybe twenty minutes, and he'd be there.

His Pip-Boy beeped frantically.

He glanced at it, suspicious. His eyes widened.

'STOP THE HORSE, NOW!'

Keram-Rei pulled back the spine with all his might. It would've taken him a good minute to get back to a simple trot. The stars were starting to come back into focus in the clear sky. "Why?"

'BECAUSE YOU WON'T DIE THAT WAY.'

Thunder cracked.

An immense force slammed into his left shoulder, unhorsing him in the blink of an eye. The Stalhrim pauldron bent and pierced his flesh. Pain flared up like a wildfire.

In an instant, his backplate met with the asphalt. He felt his ribs crack and shatter inside of his chest and his organs crush under the pressure. He kept on rolling, and with each impact, something else broke or ripped. What he felt went beyond agony. It felt as if a giant had trampled him and had tossed him away through the woods like a ragdoll.

Keram-Rei's body flailed uselessly as he bounced against the rocks, sand and road. Each nerve under his scales screamed at him and begged for mercy. He felt his blood leak from a thousand gashes in his skin, his bones tearing his muscles with each breath.

He eventually came to a stop on a nameless patch of desert, where the moonlight shone off his broken and bent body. He didn't have the strength to croak, much less to scream. He opened his mouth, and nothing came out of it except for blood. His ears roared, that was the only sound he could hear. His eyes could only see pure blackness. None of his limbs responded to him.

Keram-Rei felt tears mixing up with his own blood.

He was dying.

_No, not like this…_ He pleaded to the Divines, hoping that Arkay would listen to him. _Not like this, please…_

Before drifting away, he heard one last sound that frightened him more than death itself. More than pain, more than loneliness. More than the thought of never seeing Screaming-Eagle ever again, more than the remorse of having never kissed her.

A beep.

"The system has been restored."

* * *

His eyes shot open once again. He tentatively clenched his fists and tried to move. The nerves and links were severed, but he could manage. Broken bones, open wounds in the flesh, shattered ribcage, a punctured lung, a good chunk of the digestive trait pulped, tail snapped. He chuckled, a gurgling sound of bubbling blood and slobber. These were problems he could ignore, but it wouldn't have been good in the long run.

But then again, this wasn't even his own body.

Treads-In-Gloom grunted and shook his head. The vertebrae cracked. "I told the idiot to stop his horse, and now he leaves me no choice to get us both out of this alive." He gasped with a roll of his eyes. "'Treads-In-Gloom, you have used my body even though we would've both died if you hadn't! How dare you?'"

Yeah, that's what the kid would've said later. Keram-Rei could eat a bag of dicks, as far as he was concerned.

He swallowed and set his healing mechanisms into motion.

All those fancy-pancy light-devoted mages used their shitty gold and flashy spells to heal. Even the most powerful of those still belonged to the lowest tier of Restoration magic, but he was sure there were reasons related to ethics or some other nonsense like that. They failed to realize their magic came not only from the hole in the sky a certain worthless 'Divine' made to flee from Mundus, but from an innate source of power deep inside every creature of Nirn, perhaps the very source that allowed Magicka to be harnessed.

Blood.

Blood was just a gold mine just waiting to be exploited, who cared if some people died in the process? People died all the time, at least he could kill them to work on something that was actually useful. Well, mostly useful to him… but the idea was the same.

And covered as he was in blood right now, Treads-In-Gloom could've healed himself a thousand times over and raised a small village's worth of an army. With just a snap of his fingers, blood permeated his scales and reached for the major wounds. Once there, this branch of magic was supposed to heal by expanding single droplets of vital fluid and shaping them into flesh and bone, using life to create more life. It used life itself to create more life where there wasn't or where it was broken. It welded bones together, weaved muscles and draped the naked flesh in skin and scales.

He snorted as he tentatively flexed his fingers. "And the fuckers don't want to use it! Bah."

Well, it tended to create undead thralls… but so much the better, right? He was a necromancer, who cared if a few bodies got up again and served him? It's not like their owners needed them, anyway. Why did Keram-Rei _always_ get so upset about it? Because of the village thing? "Bitch please, I can't stand that emotional prick… it had happened, like, seven years ago!"

Ah, but why bother with such petty matters when his body finally healed and strengthened? He stood upright once again and took in a deep breath. To breathe again, after the years spent in Quagmire and one year in Keram-Rei's mind… it felt unbelievable.

To fill his lungs with the stench of blood, to stand in the dark and under the malevolent moonlight, to crush the idiots that crossed him under his boots like the worms they were. Oh, to feel blood drip from his skin, to feel the fresh life of those humans coming towards him to kill him, waiting for him to drink from their still-beating hearts…

Treads-In-Gloom licked his bloodstained finger and stifled a moan of pleasure. "Oh, I'm getting so _hard_ right now…"

But why wait for them to get to him? It would take time. He had waited years to do this.

With a grin, he broke into a dash.

Keram-Rei's body, from both an arcane and a physical point of view, sucked Imga balls. He was young, he was pure, and he had that little werewolf purification thing that had permanently tainted his blood with those ugly mutts' own ichor. Plus, he wasn't a vampire, so whatever Treads-In-Gloom did wasn't going to last. He couldn't heal himself or replenish his powers by drinking blood, it would just fill his stomach. He could feel pain, he could fatigue, and he couldn't just do whatever he wanted.

On the other hand, though, Keram-Rei was _alive_. And a living body gave him possibilities most vampires could only dream of. His magicka reserve always refuelled itself just by breathing, and he could push the body to the limit without it breaking down like an undead one. His blood _flowed_ – its potential was increased by a thousandfold if it was still warm and pumped by a living heart.

The only thing the legionaries saw must've been a blur of ice and blood.

Treads-In-Gloom stood behind them, smiling a smile too broad to be that of a mortal. "Where are you going, exactly?"

The men froze on the spot, and slowly turned around. By Sithis, wasn't their equipment pathetic. It was stuff taken from a sports store.

"The way I see it, there's two ways this is going to end." He continued, his voice raspy and gravelly. "One, you yield without opposing resistance, and I drink your blood from your hearts like all the other times. Or two…" He shuddered in ecstasy, his voice turning into a moan. "You try to fight me, I butcher you like cattle, suck your blood from your wounds, hear your screams and pleas for mercy and probably come in the process. So, what is it going to be?"

The nine legionaries looked at each other for a moment, when the one in the middle raised his sword. "We will bring your head to Caesar, abomination!"

Treads-In-Gloom clapped enthusiastically and adjusted the armor's groin plate. It was feeling too _tight_. "Oh, I was just hoping for that!"

As the men charged as one, he smiled, baring all of his fangs. _I can't go in unarmed, fun as it may be…_ He thought, smearing his fingers with blood from the armor.

They grew to the size of a Wamasu's talons, made of the iron contained in Keram-Rei's blood.

With a giggle of delight, he darted forwards. A normal human would've missed his movements by just blinking, and that was exactly what those idiots did. He buried his hands into the foremost two's gut and ripped upwards, tearing the bodies in two from the waist up. Their blood showered him in warm, scarlet drops, and he just started laughing.

"This is what true joy feels like!" He gasped, overwhelmed by the sensations he received. Their screams, the blood spurting, its smell, its taste, the sight of crimson _everywhere_. All of his senses were shrieking at him for more, more, _more_.

Treads-In-Gloom bit the throat out of another legionary and guzzled down on his life force. He wanted to keep his mouth to the open gash to the last drop, he wanted to stay there until the corpse bled dry… but there were the other six worms to take care of.

Instead of sucking more blood from the corpse, he briefly pressed his claws onto the wound and let it drop to the ground.

It never fell.

The undead legionary stood up, his scrap weapon drawn and at the ready. His glassy eyes glowed a faint red from beneath the goggles. Not quite an undead thrall. They worked better though.

"Marcus!" One of the others cried out.

Treads-In-Gloom spared them a contemptuous glance, then flicked his wrist. "Kill them all as you please, long as you give me blood enough to bathe in."

His thrall gurgled in response from the gash in his throat. Then he marched methodically and coldly, like a machine. His frame were his bones, his joints and mechanisms his muscles, his oil his own blood. He got to the man that had called his name and tore his belly open with his bare hands. Before the entrails dropped, the undead grabbed the intestines, wrapped them around his victim's neck and pulled.

Treads-In-Gloom rubbed his inner thighs at the crack.

With a pounce, he beheaded one of the insects and rammed the severed head into another's chest. The ribcage and the cranium shattered under his blow. He saw with pleasure his thrall rip the heart out from one of his comrades and crush it before his dying eyes. Then, the undead flung the corpse and his sword at another, splintering the bones and lodging the blade into his victim's forehead.

"You've done your work well, rest in Oblivion now." Treads-In-Gloom snapped his claws, and the reanimated corpse fell down with a wet thud.

An annoying impact on his backplate made him turn towards his last prey.

Before the poor bastard could even hope to shoot his weapon again, he was already pinning him to the ground and was staring into his eyes, ravenous. He buried his fangs into the screaming man's throat, mauling the windpipe and drowning his terror with blood.

_By Sithis, yes…_ Treads-In-Gloom managed to think, his heavy breath blowing from his nostrils and his tongue drawing in as much blood as he could. He pressed his own body against the corpse. _Oh, yes…_

A bullet hit his pauldron, merely annoying him. Then, he beamed at the realization and rose to his feet. "I've still got a sniper!"

He closed his eyes. He could smell his sweat, his fear, the gunpowder. The worm was… east, yes, nine hundred feet east. On a small cliff, frantically reloading his bolt-action rifle to line another shot to the head. All he needed was a single step.

"Hmm, it looks like your targets are all dead." Treads-In-Gloom commented, prone at the legionary's side.

The young man screamed in fright and sprung up. He caught his ankle and dragged him closer.

"Where do you think you're going?" Treads-In-Gloom teased him, crawling up over him, his face a few rank breaths from the legionary's. The warmth of his victim's body was a sensation he'd longed for years. "Tut-tut. There's no fight to be had now, and I can do whatever the fuck I want with _you_."

"No, have mercy!" The young man screamed and tried to wriggle away. "Please!"

"Oh, you even shriek to make me harder!" Treads-In-Gloom murmured with a malignant smile, holding his jaw with his normal hands and sneering. "Scream for me! _Scream!_"

The legionary squealed like a suckling pig. Such a good boy he was; perhaps he was going to rape him _after_ he'd died.

His hand left the jaw.

Suddenly, Treads-In-Gloom got back to his feet and took three steps back, stiff. Why didn't his body respond to his command? Where were his talons? He fell to his knees and retched. No, no, no, all the blood, all the meat he'd devoured… "Divines be damned, no!"

_How does it feel, you bastard?_

"No! Keram-Rei, you've ruined it all!" Treads-In-Gloom snarled at the battlemage. "I have waited for years – years! You can't do it! Let me have him, he's with the Legion, why would you care?!"

_Because I've had enough of your rampage, and because I don't kill unarmed men. Hence, get the fuck out._

All his feeling vanished into pure blackness, and he bellowed his rage at the heavens. _You mother-_

* * *

Keram-Rei gasped and dropped on all fours. Divines, he felt… he felt _strong_, like never before. What had Treads-In-Gloom done to his body? He knew the bastard wasn't a common necromancer, and he was as uncommon as a vampire could be, but this… it felt as if he'd manipulated his own blood.

Then came the taste of blood and human flesh. If something could've tasted of taint and crime, then it was the taste of the flesh of one of the Races. One of the foulest crimes and sins on Nirn as on Earth was consuming the forbidden meat - cannibalism. Only cults of Namira actually ate corpses to please their disgusting Daedra, and he'd destroyed each sect wherever he went. Markarth was the latest. _Gods, why did he have to do it… why…_

He threw up what the monster had eaten. Tasting the blood again was horrible, but… knowing there was nothing else made him feel cleaner, if only a little.

From the ground, a set of green eyes stared into his own, now back to icy blue. Gods, he didn't know what Treads-In-Gloom's intentions were, but he'd seen his position and he could only imagine what horrors someone like him could've perpetrated.

Keram-Rei grimly shook his head and looked back at the young man. "Get out of my way, run before it happens again. I didn't want to kill anyone, and look at what happened. Go. _Please._"

The legionary didn't need any other encouragement. He bolted like a hare and raced down a path to his left, not even bothering to turn around and pick his gun.

Keram-Rei gripped at his horns and looked to the skies, tears beginning to form in his eyes at the realization of what his body had been used for. He doubted they could hear him from this husk of a world, but he tried nonetheless. "Divines, forgive me for breathing. I should've died instead of having given him time to walk the land again… I should've stopped breathing when I could've…"

He blinked, and shook his head vigurously. If he died, they all died. There would be time for crying later. He was a soldier, a commander. He had to think about the people that stood and fought with him. And if he had seriously contemplated death for what Treads-In-Gloom had done, he then had to find a way to kick himself in the balls after he'd arranged a meeting.

He could chew out and beat the shit out of the bastard later.

Keram-Rei snorted in determination, clenching his right fist. The cold flames of the Soul Cairn licked his fingers and he crushed them away. Arvak neighed next to him and playfully headbutted him.

"No time for cuddles." He grunted as he jumped on his horse's back. "Run, Arvak. Show me the meaning of haste."


	9. The Wolf

Eyes-Of-Silver kept grinning the entire time.

"I can't believe it." Naeera muttered in stupor. "I just… wow. All of them, all of the Companions are _werewolves_." She frowned, and he could sense just how worried and tense she'd become. "Wait, if I were to _theoretically_ go to bed with-"

"I can tell you are perfectly mortal just by the smell, there is no need for you to worry about it." He waved her off, amused. Interesting, how she had only taken the key words from his tale. "Besides, it only affects us members of the Circle. The other Companions are _not_ werewolves."

"Oh, alright then. I'm sure it would've been pretty obvious, anyway…" She sighed in relief. Then, she grinned. "Hey, ever-"

Eyes-Of-Silver's head snapped upwards in alarm, and she silenced immediately.

The iron scent of blood hung in the air. He closed his eyes to focus solely on his smell and hearing, hoping to identify the possible threat and put an end to it in time. It came from the west, that much was clear. Covered in human blood. He sensed the aftertaste of magic that followed this new visitor. Natural Magicka, and enchantments applied to the armour… an armour of a material he knew all too well.

Stalhrim.

When he was about to breathe easier, his nostrils picked up another stench. Sulphur, yet it had an oddly familiar quality to it. And… and something else, something foul and evasive, something dark…

Eyes-Of-Silver grimaced. Keram-Rei had probably carried it from wherever he came from and hadn't even noticed it. That was the way dark artifacts worked. The smell of that thing was ancient, and corrupt. It sent chills down his spine.

"All clear?" Naeera whispered at his side. He'd been so focused he hadn't heard her stand up.

"I can confirm 'tis Keram-Rei." Eyes-Of-Silver announced with a smile. "However, we must be careful and see if he is carrying something tainted."

She raised a brow. "Like, Daedric?"

"No, just… _evil_." Eyes-Of-Silver replied with a shake of his head, and got to his feet. "Daedras are hardly good or evil, per se, and… so are the Divines, to a certain extent. Mortals are who you should watch yourself from."

"I just needed a 'yes' or 'no', not a philosophical thing." Naeera laughed. "But yeah, I'll keep an eye out for the true evil lurking inside each of us and all that."

He snorted with laughter and reached the edge of the cliffs. If Keram-Rei was going to be there, then the only way would've been the one that went to the west and… and…

Eyes-Of-Silver's jaw dropped.

He could see Keram-Rei closing in, of course, but what disturbed him was his steed. It was as black as night, with no flesh to cover its black bones, and violet flames burned inside of it. _Divines…_

"Arvak…" He whispered, aghast.

"Hey, I've got a horse with that name!" Naeera cheerfully told him, patting his back.

Eyes-Of-Silver turned around very slowly to look into her eyes. "Say that again."

"Hey, I've got a horse with that name…?" She repeated, uncertain.

"Ah… skeletal, ghastly, black?" He murmured, the gears in his head turning and desperately trying to make sense out of this entire situation.

They overheated and jammed.

"Yeah, that's right!" Naeera swiftly nodded until she came to a halt. "Hold on, that's right. How the fuck do you know?"

"That would be more of a question _I_ should ask _you_!" Eyes-Of-Silver retorted, frustrated more by the sheer impossibility of this all than by her question. He didn't know how to grip at his horns. "By the Divines, Naeera, just… just tell me you did _not_ find it in the Soul Cairn."

"What?" Her eyes widened in fear. "How do you even _know_ that?!"

The steadily-increasing sound of hooves cut his reply short.

* * *

Keram-Rei jumped down from Arvak and gave a look at the two Argonians that stood before his eyes, this time without the annoying filter of the spell making all the details fade away. He'd mostly seen them as glowing, blue humanoid things that vaguely looked like Argonians. It was good to see them decently.

Naeera, to his right, wasn't as tall as he'd expected her to be. Her long golden feathers and her little horns couldn't have reached his chin. She looked at him through intense yellow eyes, almost the same color as the feathers, and she had simply frozen on the spot. Her scales were dark gray, a pinch lighter than charcoal, and were perfectly intoned with the Nightingale armor she wore. Now, she might've not been beautiful in the way Screaming-Eagle was, pure and untouched, but…

Gods, wasn't she _hot_. It was as if someone had taken a snake's grace and sensuality (and a human's breasts) and had put them on an Argonian.

He averted his eyes before the glance turned into a stare, and looked at the male standing in front of him. Eyes-Of-Silver…

Well, Eyes-Of-Silver was the complete opposite.

He looked like an alligator in terms of scars and muscle, and also literally – his head _did_ vaguely resemble an alligator's, elongated and just a bit flatter. He was a real beast, easily over eight feet, and the only thing more complex than his armor's design were his own wounds. They looked like a mosaic, albeit one that made him feel physical pain at the snapped horns and at the old, closed gashes where the scales hadn't grown back.

And speaking of scales, they were _white_. Not white as in very bright, but _satin white_. This guy was a Cloud-Cloaked, one of the legendary Argonians whose body was entirely white. He… well, standing to his friend Phyrkeetus, only females could be Cloud-Cloaked, and they lived in small villages in the inlands of Black Marsh without wearing anything, guarded by pitch-black Wamasu wardens that brought them any males that passed by for ritual mating with the entire tribe.

Alright, Phyrkeetus was drunk half of the time, and the other half he spent looking for something to drink, so he wasn't exactly reliable. But Eyes-Of-Silver had still crushed his biggest dream. He would pay for that in time.

The smell… the smell of wet dog instantly told him he was dealing with a werewolf. If he was this big as an Argonian, he could've easily been the size of a werebear in his wolf form.

Yay.

The most unsettling thing, though, was none of the above. The size, no big deal. He'd seen much bigger things, Eyes-Of-Silver wasn't scary. The mechanical limbs, absolutely fine. Really cool, and a bit distracting, but there were far more outlandish things on Nirn. The scars, he could manage. A warrior's markings, they told of his history and his fights. The wolf thing, no problem. A wolf relied mostly on instincts, he would've been able to outsmart him if he were to turn. The white scales, just another illusion shattered. The idea of those naked females could've probably clouded his judgement of Screaming-Eagle in the long run.

But his eyes made Keram-Rei feel uncomfortable. They looked like molten silver, and not only in color, but in the fact they seemed to _glow_. They were large, and the pupils were just thin black slits in the sea of grey. It looked like this guy could see through his soul with those eyes, possibly read his thoughts and talk to him with his mind.

Why did they have to be fixed on him? _Why?_

Keram-Rei cleared his throat, shook his head and bowed slightly. "Evening."

"Evening." The two murmured back, dumbstruck.

"Eyes-Of-Silver, Naeera, I'm Keram-Rei." Keram-Rei continued with a slight nod. He wanted to be cordial, he wanted to have a long meeting and a great discussion about why they should join them, and he would've probably been smiling were that the case. Right now, however, Screaming-Eagle and Phoenix couldn't defend themselves, and Treads-In-Gloom's monstrous actions didn't help with the mood. The dried blood on his mouth, throat and armor must have added to that. "Normally, I'd have us talk about this for a pretty long time, but there's hardly any time at all. I've left my two friends on their own, and we must hurry."

"There is an enormous amount of things you will have to explain before we will follow you any time soon." Eyes-Of-Silver calmly observed, overcome the initial shock. His accent was even more noticeable in person. "First of all, why in the name of all that is sacred did you come here riding Arvak?"

"Because I've found him in the Soul Cairn, just like you two did." Keram-Rei said hastily. He shook his head at their dumbfounded expressions and grimaced. "Listen, things are more fucked up than it seems. I agree, this is outright insane, and you have no way to know if I'm lying or not. But we have to be quick about this."

"Hold on, are you… are you saying we're all the same _guy_?" Naeera managed, her voice no louder than a whisper. "The…"

"The Last Dragonborn." Keram-Rei confirmed, nodding hastily. "We've defeated Alduin, we've killed Miraak and we've slain Lord Harkon. Please, you… by the Gods, you can both feel me and another Dragonborn on this world, there's no need for me to tell you!"

"This may make things easier, but I still cannot say I trust you." Eyes-Of-Silver announced him with an unhurriedness that bordered on 'deliberately being a dick'. Keram-Rei's gloves squeaked. "What are your intentions? Why did you call this meeting? Can you offer us any real reason to join your little group, or are you simply searching for additional strength to enforce your personal interests?"

"We are all Dragonborn, we all come from Nirn, and none of us knows how to survive in this place." Keram-Rei all but snarled through gritted teeth. There was no time to waste, and the werewolf was dragging this out. The questions were all reasonable, but he had explained time and time again there was _no time_ to be wasted in the first place. "We have met a human girl that could be able to aid us in this. She has agreed to help us, and we have agreed to help her."

Eyes-Of-Silver chuckled arrogantly. "You have agreed to a stranger's proposal no more than a day after you found yourself stranded on this world?"

"What did this girl need?" Naeera asked him, much more straightforward than her companion (and much more appreciated).

"Revenge. You can ask her the details yourself." Keram-Rei swiftly answered, and almost pleaded them with his eyes. "She and Screaming-Eagle aren't safe now, that's why I can't afford to leave them there."

"No." Eyes-Of-Silver replied, adamantine and cold. Keram-Rei started growling. "We do not know you, we do not know your intentions, and we most definitely do not want to have anything to do with someone so evasive."

"Then fuck you both!" Keram-Rei snapped, baring his teeth and narrowing his eyes. "I already said I can't waste any time – you want to die here? Your call!" He clenched his right fist, ignoring the cold flames of the Soul Cairn enveloping his forearm, and summoned Arvak. The horse didn't even have time to headbutt him like he usually did; the battlemage immediately jumped on his back. "Last chance to follow me, I'm heading back to my friends."

Nobody answered. Keram-Rei snorted and turned his horse around. So much for the other Dragonborn heroes.

"Wait!" Came Naeera's voice. He glanced over his shoulder, and saw her mounting her own steed, black and flaming like his. "What sort of danger are we talking about?"

"In the best case, torture and death for Screaming-Eagle." Keram-Rei told her. He couldn't help but grin at her decision. It mixed with the grimace his words brought. "In the worst case, Phoenix is kept to bear Legion children. Are you coming?"

"Yes I am." Naeera nodded harshly. Then, she reined her horse around. "Eyes-Of-Silver, _please_."

Eyes-Of-Silver sat on a rock and shook his head grimly. "I have no reason to trust them. I simply _cannot_ trust them."

"May the Gods be with you, then." Keram-Rei wished him, and spurred Arvak back down the road. "Fucking mutt…"

* * *

Desert nights were cold, no matter how close she held her rags to her body.

Maria walked alone in the camp. Or at least, the place was nowhere near empty, but she felt alone in all that. All alone in her ragged piece of cloth, her head low and her shoulders slumped whenever she passed near the Legion men. Her back hurt terribly. She was supposed to carry a small shipment of healing powder to a man in a cowboy hat and with a big mustache for… she didn't know what, but she knew she wouldn't have had to carry anything else afterwards. She hadn't been told why, but she nonetheless followed her orders.

Either that, or the whip.

It was easy. As long as she didn't rant, reply or raise her head, she was going to be fine. Same applied for looking straight in the eye, not calling a legionary sir or not obeying fast enough. It had always been like that, and just remembering these simple things was the difference between being ignored and being whipped, or beaten. _If I'm a good girl, I don't get hit. If I'm a bad girl, I get hit. If I'm a good girl, I don't get hit. If I'm a bad girl, I get hit…_

The backpack was heavy, way too heavy for her to bear, and the straps threatened to cut into her shoulders, but she knew better than to complain or cry. Her feet ached on the cold sand and in the splotches of reeking mud in front of some barracks. She didn't need to imagine what had caused those to appear; her nostrils did the work for her brain. After four years, though, she'd grown used to the place, to its crimson sights and to its torches' pungent smell. As long as nobody minded her, she was happy. It meant she hadn't made anyone angry, although the legionaries always seemed to be furious with everyone, no matter what. The perk of being small, however, was also being barely visible.

Even in all that, Maria wasn't completely alone. She reached inside of her clothes with a tiny hand and gripped something fuzzy and small. When she noticed nobody was looking at her, she pulled out a small plushie. It had been white once, but now it was caked in mud and sand. Its snout was pulled into a smile, its triangular ears were always ready to hear any possible danger, and two gray buttons looked at her reassuringly.

Maria pulled Mr. Wolf in a furtive hug and smiled faintly. "I love you, Mr. Wolf." She whispered into one of his ears.

An old lady had given her Mr. Wolf some four years ago, and she still remembered it with perfect clarity. It was a hot day. She had been crying all day for her mommy, up to the point the man that was carrying her had ultimately slapped her and thrown her in the nearest pen. There, this old lady had approached her and, after a couple of failed attempts at calming her down, she had given her Mr. Wolf. She'd said he was a very loyal guard wolf, always ready to cheer her up when something went wrong. In all the unhappiness and horror of that place, he was her only true friend. The others always disappeared one day to never come back, especially the women.

"SAY THAT AGAIN, SUBHUMAN SCUM!"

Angry shouts and cries of pain dragged her back to reality. She briefly kissed Mr. Wolf, hid him safely into her clothes and dared look up for the briefest of instants.

There were three legionaries beating a man ruthlessly and savagely, kicking and punching him even though he pleaded them to stop. Six more clapped and laughed at their comrades and asked for more. Along with the usual crimson, she could see another shade of red on the leather armors of the Legion men, and the poor slave was covered in it. He was crying loudly and yet they were having fun with him as he bled and pleaded.

"TRY ANSWERING LIKE THAT TO OUR DECANUS AGAIN NOW, SLAVE!"

Maria shook her head and averted her eyes. If she kept on looking, they would have noticed. And if they noticed, they would have dragged her in, too. There was no reasoning with the legionaries – if they wanted to do something, they did it. And slaves like Maria could only bow their heads and abide if they wished to come out of it alive. Horrible as it may be, what could a child hope to do against so many soldiers?

She kept on walking nervously. It was fine. They hadn't noticed her. _If I don't look up, they don't look down. If I don't say anything, they don't hear anything…_

No matter how long she walked or where she went, the stench of human waste, sweat and blood always followed her. The entire camp stunk horribly, especially near the latrines dug to one side of it. Those were reserved to men of the Legion and to the commanders' slaves. The others did it in the pens themselves. Nobody cleaned, nobody thought about the smell or the diseases that spread everywhere they went. Speaking to the Legionaries was out of question, and that was the only viable option. The men got beaten to bleed, the women… they just got dragged away, and the looks on their faces when they returned told of unspeakable horrors. Maria hoped she never got to know what could happen to her.

As she strode around a bend, she saw a girl scream as two legionaries took her out of view and into the shadows. The slave kept screeching for some time, then the shrieks faded away. When she walked in front of where the girl had been taken, the only things she could hear were grunts and muffled sobs, and… and a sound like the one flesh made when someone got slapped, or punched. But it wasn't it, and she suspected something worse, although she didn't know what.

Maria gulped and strode on. If she stopped, chances were they were going to take her, too. She didn't want that. _If I ask questions, I'll get answers. If I think something stupid, I'll do something stupid…_

She had grown used to ignoring all the noise over the years, but if she just closed her eyes for a couple of seconds and focused, she remembered the camp wasn't as silent as one might've thought. The ground nearly shook with all the legionaries marching everywhere at all times of the day. The air was filled with shouts and shrieks, with laughter and cries, with commands and pleas. Everyone there either suffered or relished. There was no other way to be. This was the only life she could remember, and the only one she had. A life of slavery, of thirst to quench with muddy water and of hunger to sate with worms-ridden bread. She wondered whether the Legion gave slaves the worst things it had or if it just made them that way, specifically for them. For people that didn't deserve to be people, according to Caesar. Why, she had no idea. Was there any difference between an enslaved man and a legionary?

Perhaps a slave still had his heart.

Maria brushed the thoughts away with a blink. There, standing in one of the squares in the encampment, next to a fire, she noticed a man that had nothing to do with either a slave or a legionary. He wore a red kerchief around his neck, a dark blue jacket and black pants. She could see a pair of long straps going from his belt to his shoulders, but she didn't understand of what use they could be. She'd never seen anything like that.

The man himself didn't look too old, but he definitely wasn't young. Even under the pale moonlight and the crackling fire, she could see strands of silver in his hair.

In his hair, held under a cowboy hat, and in his mustache.

Maria stepped up the pace and made a beeline for him. There couldn't be anyone else that fitted the description she'd been given in the camp, not one man could look like him. The Legion people always wore a leather armor with mask and goggles, whereas the slaves only had tattered and ragged clothing.

He seemed to see her approach and looked down to her. He wasn't impressed, he wasn't angry; he just looked plain bored. "What do ya want, rat?"

Maria took the pack from her back and held it up and in front of her for the man to take. She bowed her head. "Miss Siri said to bring you this, sir."

The man opened the backpack in her hands and examined his contents. Her arms began to tire and shake, but he didn't seem to care. Then, he gave a satisfied grunt and the weight on her arms vanished. "Jus' like she said, good." He pushed her away indignantly. "Now get lost, I dun' wanna catch anything nasty you slaves always fall down wiv'."

Maria nodded her head and marched away without uttering one word. On the way back to her pen, she couldn't help but sigh in relief. At least this one hadn't punched or kicked her to make her go away. All in all, it had been a good day. She had finally managed to find where Miss Stella was, too. She was one of the few people who had been kind to her. Once word had spread she had been with the Enemy Across the River, or En-see-ar, she'd been moved. Finding her hadn't been easy, but at least Maria now knew where she was held.

It wasn't too different from the other stockades, but this one was filled entirely with women from across the river. And there were a lot of legionaries there, too – many more than anywhere else she'd ever been, apart from the armory. But they didn't make guard, they just took the women away.

Again, she wished she would never know why.

Maria passed right near it while she walked and raised her eyes. She hoped to see Miss Stella's long, brown hair and her familiar features, but to no avail. It was dark, and there were far too many legionaries in there – and she couldn't make her from the others. Just… women, either sad or hollow, sitting and hugging their knees.

Just next to it was a place she knew she had to avoid at all costs.

It was a long wooden shack, like few other buildings in the camp that weren't made of red fabric. It was unpainted, though, and had a small sign next to the entrance. She had no idea what was written there, but it couldn't possibly be good. Some other slaves had told her bad things happened there and she never, _ever_, wanted to be seen around the place. Only women were held there, as far as she knew. Although muffled by the windows, the only sounds that came from there were either cries or moans. She'd hardly seen anyone that wasn't a legionary get in or out of there, but the few times she had they were always young girls in tears or expressionless women with a rounded belly.

She shuddered and went as fast as she could past it. If they didn't focus on her, they couldn't grab her. She had to be a shadow.

Maria began to recognize where she was going, which paths to follow and which to avoid. She remembered many of the slaves' faces, and noticed many more new to the place, judging from how they cried and thrashed against the cages. She kept at a distance from any tent or legionary, she ignored the sounds and smells, and she could finally see the pen she called home.

Another day had passed, and she hadn't died.

She heard footsteps closing in from behind, and a pair of large hands pressed on her shoulders. She nearly panicked. "Well, well, what have we here?"

Maria just gulped, her eyes wide open and her muscles tense. _No, no, no…_

"Do you have a name, slave child?" The man continued – a legionary. His contemptuous tone could only belong to one.

"M-Maria." She struggled, paralyzed in fear.

He laughed nastily, and she felt him crouch behind her. His breath felt warm against her neck. "That's a nice name… for a slave."

Maria didn't know what was going to happen, but she didn't like it. She liked none of it. She just wanted to go to sleep – or better, she just wanted to run away, jump over the walls and get as far away as she could from that camp. Because if she didn't like this, then she knew something worse was going to follow.

"How old are you?" The man hissed and nuzzled at her ear.

She closed her eyes shut and made an attempt to steady her breath. "I-I'm eight."

"Oh, eight." The legionary replied in a whisper. She didn't like how pleased he sounded, or how… how he _licked_ her lobe. "Are you tired?"

She nodded once.

She heard him stand up and hold just one hand on her shoulder, with twice the pressure. "Come with me to my tent, then. There's a bed there."

"Sir, I-I'm scared." Maria told him, hoping he would just walk away. "Please, if-"

"Do you think I care, little whore?" The legionary growled at her, suddenly harsh and vicious. He gripped at her shoulder tight. It was starting to hurt her. "I said, _come with me to my tent._"

Maria whimpered and let the man drag her away. Tears streaked down her eyes, taking away some of the dirt that had collected on her cheeks. This was all terrifying. They had always told her not to be taken, and now someone had taken her. But if she didn't obey, things were going to be much worse. Maybe… maybe he wouldn't hurt her too much. Maybe it was going to be over soon, whatever it was.

A slave, an old man, had once told her there was someone up in the sky that always listened to someone that needed help. She didn't remember either name, but if that old sir had been right, then she asked whoever was listening for help. _Please, please, please, I'm scared, don't let him do anything to me… make Mr. Wolf help me…_

Sooner than she would've liked, she found herself thrown onto a bedroll. She was under a triangular roof of red fabric, held up by two metal pipes. All around her were four or five other sleeping sacks, empty, probably all rough and uncomfortable like the one she sat on.

A second later, the legionary entered and pulled his mask and goggles away. He looked young, with buzzed black hair and a very short black beard. He stared at her with beady brown eyes, and gave him a toothy grin. He was starting to scare her.

The man kept on grinning and waved a hand. "Take your clothes off, you little bitch."

Maria blinked the tears out of her eyes and tried to stand up. She took in a deep breath and tried to look up. "W-why?"

"Because I say so, and I want to fuck you." The legionary growled and leaned in closer, glaring into her eyes. She could smell his fetid breath. "Now either you take them off, or I rip them off, you filthy slave."

She yelped. She took a step back in terror, then ignored the tears and breathed out. Whatever it was, it was going to be worse if she didn't obey. She slipped out of her rags and shuffled her feet to try and get them out of the way. She didn't dare look up. This was wrong, this was all so _wrong_…

The man cackled and ran a hand through her hair. She shivered. His hands were so rough, and she hated how happy he sounded. His fingers went everywhere. He laughed again, and pulled his hand away. "And what is this, cutie? Your friend?"

Maria looked up in horror, and saw all of her nightmares come true.

He'd found Mr. Wolf.

"Look at him, so happy…" The legionary muttered with a sneer. Then, he pulled up Mr. Wolf and smiled. "Tell me, is he a good dog?"

"H-he's a good… a good wolf…" Maria snivelled and held her hands out. "P-please, he…"

The man grabbed the head with one hand, the body with the other, and ripped. In the small tent, the sound was deafening. She sobbed once. Her friend, her only friend, had gotten his head torn off. After all that time, after the four years they'd shared, after all the times she'd found her comfort in him… he was gone.

The legionary held the two halves in front of her while she cried in silence. "He _was_ a good _dog_, you ignorant little whore. Now lay down on your back. I'll turn you over later."

Maria gave one last look at what remained of her friend, and did as the man ordered. He just laughed and got on top of her, taking pieces of his armor off and… and _kissing her_. It was dreadful, the feeling of his tongue and his lips against hers, his hands on her sides, her thighs…

A howl.

Maria couldn't tell whether she or the legionary had trembled, they were too close. But the only certain thing was that howl, that frighteningly low sound that had pierced through the night and the encampment's noise. Whatever animal had let out that bay had to be ten times larger than a mongrel. Silence fell upon the whole camp, both in fear and astonishment. The guard dogs all around barked and whimpered. She even heard some of them run away.

"You stay here, bitch." The legionary ordered her in a shaky voice. "Stay here and don't move. I'll be back, and you're going to pray I didn't get interrupted." He gripped at her belly once more. "You're going to beg and scream and pray I didn't get interrupted."

Maria gave him a weak nod, shaking, too terrified to talk.

If by the man or by the beast, she didn't know.

* * *

No matter how many years he had spent refining his technique, it hadn't been enough. No matter his training, his self-restraint, his will of iron, his nerves of steel – they hadn't been enough.

The beast had overtaken him.

And it felt _good_.

The first thing that came to his enhanced ears were the screams. The screams of the men, women and children held there against their own will, captured either during a war or out of sheer spite. Filthy rags, frightened faces, put in pens like cattle or in cages… there had to be so many of them, so many people he couldn't hope to take outside because of the men clothed in leather armour and red markings in mockery of his own troops. Towards these men, he could only feel hatred. People treated as nothing more than animals, mere instruments of either work or pleasure…

The beast growled loudly at the memories.

The entire place reeked of foulness, be it from human waste and sweat or from blood and metal. He had to strain to stay focused and to keep his head from snapping around. He was swimming through nausea and dizziness, but he had to power through it and concentrate.

Then came the shouts and the orders, and the dogs yowling or whimpering. Those idiots were bringing mongrels against him, _mongrels_. It would have taken him no more than another howl to turn them all against their owners and have those beasts savage them. And he himself would have added to that, if given the possibility.

Before his enemies could start being the nuisance they usually were in this form, he gave one last sniff to the air and found it. Amidst the storm of emotions, stenches and smells that was this enormous camp, there was one trace that had hit him from at least three miles away. Even among the smell of… of _children_, this one stood out. It reeked of fear and frailty, like all others, but the aftertaste that came was an impossibility. And yet there it was, taunting him. And so there _he_ was, searching for the scent of this anomaly. It wasn't far, but getting there without a slaughter would've been a problem.

But then again, why would he care for the men in red?

The slaves, he ignored. Easy prey, but innocent. Every single one of them. They didn't deserve to die in terror, like they had lived. At the right time, he would have come back to save them. Each and every single one of them. Now was as far as it could get from the right time, though.

The beast took one step, his claws at the ready. His paws' talons dug into sand and mud alike. Soon, he started walking, the ground trembling as he keept his hunched stance, ready to pounce and tear the throat out of the first enemy that dared cross his path. His dagger-like canines glistened in the moonlight, and so did his fur, white as snow. His nose told him to go forward, towards one of the thousands of crimson tents. That way lay the oddity.

And of course, ten men stood in his way.

He didn't know which one looked the most pathetic or loathsome, but he didn't care. They were all identical, all clad in scavenged leather pauldrons, chestpieces and boots. He couldn't even begin to think where they had gotten that equipment, but it didn't take him long even like this to notice just how poor and ridiculous it looked. The only one that stood out was a man to the far right, who was adjusting his armour into place and strapping the shoulder guards together with one hand, the other gripping the mockery of a sword.

"In the name of Caesar, slay the beast!" The man at the front bellowed and pointed his sword at him.

Before they could even move, the beast was on them.

His jaws snapped closed around the head of the soldiers' leader, and he tasted blood. Bones cracked under the pressure and he felt the slimy consistence of brains and eyes on his tongue. He had no time to feast, however. Dull blades attempted to cut at his forearms, only for a few strikes to notch his skin. The faint pain just added to his anger.

With two swipes of his arms, his claws either hurled away or sheared in half more of the enemies. Crimson stained his fur and muzzle, and so did with the ground. Rivulets of blood flowed from the dead and dying men's open bellies and chests, adding to the wonderful feeling of this particular hunt. Hunting a prey was one thing; heralding vengeance was another entirely.

The man with the mismatched armour ran back, but he wasn't in a hurry. There was at least the time to devour one of the fallen's hearts. He went for the leader's headless corpse. His fangs buried into the chestpiece and ripped it off, exposing the chest. Then, he tore a ribbon of flesh from the belly and swallowed it down. Oh, he had forgotten how good it was to feed, and the smell of entrails aided that grand feeling. And so he bit and gnashed his way to the heart, through the juicy organs and the frail bones.

His maws encased the heart and he rived it from the body. His head snapped free from the corpse, and he held the heart high to the moon. How long since he had actually taken one from a wicked man like this…

The beast devoured it.

He felt new strength coming to him and old forces returning to his muscles. He howled, victorious, and went back to his trail. Fear had now spiked in the strangeness, and that could only make his blood boil even more. Rage added to rage and turned to unbound wrath, held tamed only by the shrieks of the innocents. He couldn't go on a rampage here, there were people that didn't deserve to die. Men, women and children whose only sin was bad timing and sheer misfortune. No, he had to stick to the plan, if he could still remember it.

The situation around wasn't good. Of the thousands of men capable of fighting, at least forty of them were closing in. And behind those were a hundred more, ready to strike when he cut down the first forces. Killing now was pointless, it would have only resulted in death coming to him sooner or later. This time, he suspected they had brought something other than swords to deal with him. The acrid smell of gunpowder hung in the air. He needed a distraction, and the mongrels would've been just fine.

He issued a howl of command to all the canine beasts in the surroundings. It asked for carnage, and for the slaughter of the men in crimson, but _not_ of the unarmoured people.

The effect was immediate. Panic sprung from a thousand simpler minds, and blood flowed. However wicked these people could be, they surely trained their beasts well. They would've bought him precious time.

The beast growled and sprinted to his target on all fours. He was getting closer, and closer, and closer…

A shrill scream came from the inside.

He ripped the flap aside and snarled in fury.

There lay two people on the ground, a half-stripped man and a naked _child_. She was backing away from the bastard, holding something that looked like a torn toy in her hands. The soldier grabbed her by the throat.

The beast hacked his arms off with his claws and tossed him aside like a ragdoll against the red fabric. The man started screaming, he started mauling. His teeth ripped and tore and shredded the bare flesh of the chest and neck, and his mouth tasted the insides and blood of a wicked man twice that night. It didn't feel good in an exciting way. It felt good in a just way.

A scream reminded him he wasn't alone.

* * *

Maria hugged what remained of Mr. Wolf tighter to her body and kicked the legionary's arms away. She was sweating and shaking uncontrollably. She sobbed loudly. It had all been so horrible, how the legionary had run inside and had slammed her against the bedroll, how he shouted at her, all the screams, but…

That… that _thing_ was like nothing she'd ever seen, and like nothing she'd ever wished to see. It had to be at least fifteen or seventeen feet tall when at full height. Its fur was covered in blood and gore, and pieces of meat hung from its mouth or between its teeth.

It… it might've been white, but it was now caked in crimson. Its snout was pulled to bare all of its fangs, its triangular ears snapped in all directions to listen to any possible dangers, and its… its eyes…

They looked like molten silver.

Unable to speak from the shock, she took Mr. Wolf's remains and held them up, her eyes staring into the beast's. They burned with hatred and rage, and hunger, so much hunger… but it closed its mouth and tilted its head. It let out a low whimper of confusion, not unlike some of the puppies she'd once seen.

Then, it came forwards. For a beast this large, it was careful and silent. The only thing that gave it away were the earth-shaking steps. But it slowly leaned closer, up until its open muzzle was a few breaths from her nose. Its breath smelled of blood and of pure horror, a thousand times worse than that of the mongrels or the legionaries. Tears still streamed down her eyes. It… that thing couldn't possibly be _him_…

Maria closed her eyes in fear. No, she had been mistaken, that thing was going to eat her and…

Something wet and rough rubbed against her right cheek.

She frowned.

It did the same thing to her left cheek.

At this point, she opened her eyes to look at what the beast was doing. It was…

It was licking her tears away.

Maria raised her brows in surprise. It was impossible, and yet that was how Mr. Wolf had always tried to make her feel better… but how could Mr. Wolf be such a monster? He was little and cute, and friendly, and soft. This thing was five times a man, a beast that had mauled her attacker with no mercy.

Problem was, she hadn't touched it to see if it was soft.

She took in a deep breath, closed her eyes and held a hand out. She turned her head the other way and hugged her knees with the other arm. Maybe it was too full to eat her, or maybe it would've only bitten her hand off and would've left her alone… she was sure it would hurt, but always better than being swallowed whole.

It sniffed her palm and fingers with its enormous nostrils, and she recoiled in fear. She didn't like where this was going. It had been a mistake. It would've ignored her if she hadn't been so stupid…

It nuzzled her hand.

It was sticky with blood and slobber afterwards, but it was a sign of affection all right. Tentatively, she held the other up and brought it behind its ears. Those things were as big as her entire hand, but she scratched nonetheless. It gently pushed against her and let out a low growl of… approval? It sounded _happy_.

Maria heard a thumping noise and looked around in fear. It sounded like an entire team of legionaries marching at the same time, all in heavy armor and with big weapons, ready to hunt them down. When her head glanced behind the giant monster, she let out a little sigh.

It was just the thing wagging its tail.

For the first time in her entire life, she smiled broadly. This… this thing _was_ Mr. Wolf! Sure, he was a lot bigger in person than he was before, but it was understandable. He had to hide in her clothes all the time before that. Now that he had to save her, he had to be big and strong to help her. So someone had listened to her, after all. _Thanks… whoever you are._

The true realization hit her.

Maria found her courage and looked into… into _Mr. Wolf's_ eyes. She inhaled and exhaled deeply, then nodded. "Mr Wolf, are we… are we going _away_?"

Mr. Wolf gave her what could only be a smile and nodded slowly.

"B-but… how are we going to get away?" She asked him, reson making its way in her mind and making the excitement fade away. "There's a… a lot of bad p-people…"

She could have sworn he'd laughed.

Without adding anything, he extended a hand towards her. It didn't really look like a paw, especially with the long clawed fingers and how vaguely human they looked… but she took it nonetheless and wrapped her fingers around his. Even with both of her own hands, she couldn't hope to wrap them around his pinky finger.

However, it didn't seem to be a problem for him. He just lifted her like nothing and set her on his back. For the briefest of moments, she felt weightless. Her feet didn't touch the ground anymore for a few seconds, but it came to an end soon. She dropped on Mr. Wolf's bloodstained fur, and just then she noticed how knotty and gnarled his hairs were. Her belly, her legs and her arms became wet with blood. She just gripped tight and pressed the side of her head against his back, and heard his heart beat like a drum, his breath as strong as the wind, his fur warm against the cold, dark night.

Before Maria could say anything, Mr. Wolf ran. She held on tighter and saw she couldn't even make out the encampment. He was just so fast… the only thing she could hear were the legionaries shouting and shooting. She pressed harder against him, but they didn't hit them. And if they did, then he could probably shrug off the _bullets_. Now _that_ was Mr. Wolf. A loyal guard wolf, ready to cheer her up whenever something went wrong…

Ready to save her.

That old lady had been right. Mr. Wolf really was a great friend.

She just held on, her eyes closed shut. For the first time, she breathed in true fresh air. There was no more keeping her head down, no more calling people 'sir' to avoid being beaten, no more carrying impossible weights, no more looking away from bad things and pretending they never happened, no more living in constant fear.

Then, Mr. Wolf leapt. Maria didn't know how high, but she knew he'd jumped – and the dampened landing confirmed it. After that, the screams began to fade away with each second that passed. They became more distant, more unfocused, as if… as if they had escaped.

She opened an eye and smiled.

There was no red in sight.

There was absolutely no sign of crimson all around them, no torches, no light. Just the desert and, high above them, the moon. It cast a pale light on her, and the very feeling of it was intoxicating.

Maria was _free_.

As soon as she thought that, Mr. Wolf slowed to a halt. She raised her head and saw they were hidden in a small fissure in the earth, between two cliffs. He delicately took her and set her on the ground, then he looked into her eyes and pointed behind her.

She turned at once. What was it that Mr. Wolf had wanted her to see? Some enemy? Animals? Friends, maybe? Or did she have to make guard? If so, then she would've been the best guard that ever was. She folded her arms on her chest and set her legs apart, putting on her best scowl.

Maria gasped at the shower of cold water that awaited her. She began to shake.

She had never felt anything even remotely that cold, and now her body just wouldn't move. Two big, armored hands hastily ran over her with soft, squishy things that smelled of… she didn't know what they smelled of, but it was really good. She tried to escape a little from them, but they calmly stopped her and kept going on. The armor on the right hand was bone-white and trimmed with black, while the other was dark brown, almost pitch-black. They didn't move over her like the legionary's, though… these were methodical, almost as if their owner didn't even _care_ about doing… things with her. Still, she didn't really like the feeling of someone touching her.

It didn't feel too bad like that, though. They went through her hair, on her arms and legs, on her tummy, on her back and even on her bun and… and _down there_, but never to touch her like that legionary. It wasn't all that pleasant, but she knew resistance would've been politely ignored. They moved just to… she didn't know what they were doing, actually, and that scared her a little. The dirt was going away, though. She felt… clean. Mr. Wolf (or at least, she supposed it was him) was cleaning her up?

More cold water fell on her head and shattered her thoughts.

The two hands withdrew. Then, a heavy blanket covered her entirely, and the hands rubbed it against her. Mr. Wolf was being very delicate, wiping the water away and drying her up once again. Sometimes, he was rough or too fast, while at times he was too slow or too careful, but she didn't mind. It wasn't horrible, just weird.

In her four years with the Legion, she doubted she'd ever used water for anything other than drinking.

When his large hands left, Maria wrapped the blanket around her body. Now that she noticed, she was naked. She blushed; what would've Mr. Wolf thought if he'd seen her like that?

She managed to free her head from the large square of cloth and looked at Mr. Wolf.

He was nowhere to be seen.

With horror, she saw a true monster kneeling in front of her. He looked like… he looked like a lizard, or one of those geckos the legionaries brought to the camp, but _much_ bigger. His armor was like nothing she'd ever seen or heard of, white and with a hundred figures carved on it. His left arm wasn't covered by the heavy white plates, and it was made entirely of _metal_. A tail of the same material was set on the ground, near his right foot. He was covered in scars, and he had horns that were mostly broken. His scales were white. He was…

He was smiling, and he was looking into her eyes with his own.

His eyes looked like molten silver.

Of all the things she could've possibly done, she frowned deeply and pouted in disappointment. "You're Mr. Wolf?"

The reptile shrugged. "'twould appear so."

Maria nodded twice, unconvinced.

Her eyes shot wide open.

Mr. Wolf had just _talked_.

"YOU CAN TALK!" Maria squealed. Her hands were shaking, and she couldn't stop from jumping. "YOU CAN TALK!"

He gave her a warm grin with that strange mouth of his. "Oh, and so you did not expect me to be capable of speech?"

Maria's mouth hung open. She had no idea Mr. Wolf could talk like a gentleman – not even the Legion officers sounded that good. And they tried, or at least pretended to. But he… it was natural for him. His light accent made for a strange combination with his voice, so low and powerful. She could've listened to him all day.

"Are you all right, lass?" He asked her, now completely serious.

She nodded happily, doing a little dance and throwing her hands in the air. "YES!"

"What did that man do to you?" Mr. Wolf growled.

Maria looked down and closed her eyes, and all of her excitement vanished. Now, she just didn't want to cry in front of Mr. Wolf again. "He… he touched me, a-and kissed me…"

He grunted angrily. She heard a rock in front of her shatter. "Did that monster do anything else to you?"

She shook her head.

Mr. Wolf sighed in relief. Then, he lifted her chin with a finger. It was… cold, and she saw it belonged to his left hand. He looked first into her eyes, then at her cheeks. He parted her lips with his thumb (easily the size of her entire mouth) and looked inside. He snorted, grumbling something to himself.

"W-what is it?" Maria asked him, still bewitched.

"Nothing, just a sensation." Mr. Wolf waved her off, thoughtful. "You are… unique. It did not take long for me to find you."

"Of course, I'm your best friend, Maria!" She announced proudly, banging a tiny fist against her chest with all the excitement she could muster. Was there any doubt he could find her? "And you're Mr. Wolf, my best _best_ friend!"

He raised a brow in surprise. Then he chuckled and ruffled her hair. "Yes I am, cub."

She beamed and ran to hug him. Her arms barely reached behind his sides, but she still tried. To him, she was just like a wolf puppy. And it made sense, too, since he was _huge_. It wasn't long before she felt his enormous arms around her back pull her in a tighter embrace – yet never in a crushing bear hug.

"I love you, Mr. Wolf." Maria told him with an even broader smile. It was the only thing she could manage to say.

"Hey, we are best _best_ friends for a reason now, are we not?" Mr. Wolf chuckled. She felt her whole body shake when he did. "I… love you too, Maria."

For a while, she didn't want to move. It had been so long since someone had hugged her like this. She had hoped for so long that Mr. Wolf would come alive and hug her, tell her that everything was going to be okay, tell her that she didn't have to cry anymore, tell her that she would've been far, far away from all the bad people in the Legion, tell her that she had a true friend that would never leave her alone.

And now it was happening.

Maria wriggled a little, and he immediately understood and let her go. She looked up into her eyes. "Where are we going now, Mr. Wolf?"

"Nowhere, if you are not wearing these first." Mr. Wolf told her sternly, taking a few things out of one of his pockets. They were a large strip of generic white cloth, a pair of white pants without legs, and what was probably a green robe. "Put these on."

She let the blanket fall down and took the robe.

A large hand stopped her, accompanied by a light scowl.

"I don't know what those things are." Maria confessed him, shuffling her feet and pouting, her cheeks puffed. Maybe she'd been rude…

"You do not know…" Mr. Wolf trailed off and closed his eyes, showing his teeth momentarily. Then, he bit his lip. "You are supposed to use them to cover your… well, your, ah… bah, listen, just put them on."

She shrugged and got into the legless pants, then wrapped the strip of cloth around her belly button and looked up to him.

He sighed and looked at her in what could only be confusion. Then, he wrapped the strip around her chest, making it pass just under the armpits.

"Why?" Maria asked, confused.

"I am not entirely sure of its use so early, but 'tis worn to… gah, I shall tell you are older." Mr. Wolf quickly dismissed her and motioned for her to hold her hands up. She did so, and he slid the small green robe over her. It was… light, and comfortable. Very smooth and soft. He chuckled. "Ah, just perfect."

She had always liked green, too.

"Where are we going now, Mr. Wolf?" She repeated insistently.

She'd never thought she would have made it past the walls, and so she didn't know where to go. She had never seen the outside world and, if she had, then she'd been too young to remember anything about it. The only thing she knew was that the Legion hated almost everyone out there. As long as the Legion didn't like someone, she was absolutely sure that that someone was fine.

"I have some… let us say friends I must find." He told her slowly, sniffing the air. "They are very close. I believe we might reach them on foot, if we hurry."

Maria grunted in approval and went at his side, ready for the walk.

Instead, Mr. Wolf picked her up and set her on his shoulders. Avoiding the spikes on his head was… tricky, but most of them were blunt or too short to hurt her. "There is no reason for you to get tired, and you barely weigh anything on my back. Just hold on tight, Maria – I will be running."

She nodded enthusiastically and gripped his two longest horns for support. This was going to be _awesome_.


	10. United

Screaming-Eagle sat in silence, caressing Phoenix's bloodsoaked hair. The girl's head rested on her shoulder, her sobs now less intense when compared to her initial wails. Her robes were just now beginning to dry up, drenched as they were in tears. The mage had had to move her from the corpse to actually have her calm down a little. She had to admit, the sight was… unsettling. The smell made it all worse.

The boats were clearly visible from their new position on a cliff overlooking the entire Lake Mead. They were hidden by a couple of large boulders which cast their shadows on them. She thanked the Gods for that. They were safe, for the moment. The waters gleamed under the beautiful starlight. Stillness reigned. No sound came apart from Phoenix's whimpers, not the howl of the wind, not the noise of man. Just… silence, broken by her sobs.

Screaming-Eagle sighed and ran her red fingers through the girl's corvine hair, now encrusted with dried blood. Poor thing, she was just like a broken child. It must've felt like a nightmare to her, one that still continued throughout the waking hours. The horrors this girl had seen… only the Forlorn could hope to match the savagery of the Legion – and even then, they were a minority. Caesar's Legion could have numbered hundreds of thousands, as far as she was concerned.

What could she hope to say to Phoenix? She had seen things that would break the will of any man, nothing could be of any comfort at the sight of dead innocents, of dead children. Only the dark powers of the Daedric Princes could produce more unsettling sights, and there were none on this world. Words were of no use in all of this.

Still, her nanny had proven to her that she may not always need any.

Screaming-Eagle wrapped her arms around Phoenix, and the girl leaned heavily on her. Her cries grew stronger, but the mage just rocked her back and forth, back and forth. It was a delicate, slight movement, barely noticeable. Yet it could do so much more than the same empty words repeated over and over again… sometimes, silence was the only thing that needed to be said.

It wasn't something she would've normally done under any circumstances, but now she was far from normality. Her tail, symbol of her heritage and nobility, was gone. She was stranded on a desertic world with the most unlikely of allies… no, of _friends_.

They weren't assets. They were people. It had taken her a deadly injury to acknowledge it and to finally free her from the curse of her family. She was Screaming-Eagle of House Calamuseeth no more, she was just Screaming-Eagle the Outcast.

She couldn't help but give a sigh of relief.

Although her nanny would've never voiced her thoughts, she had probably wanted this for her. Her freedom had been nearly non-existant in Tamriel. Now, she had the chance to begin again, to live properly, to have friends… all things her family had strictly forbidden her.

Screaming-Eagle decided to start with comforting the scared girl that sobbed on her shoulders. There was no way Phoenix would have stopped crying anytime soon, there had to be something she could do, and soon. _Come on, Screaming-Eagle, you're bound to know something with all the books you've read…_

Phoenix was completely frightened by the Legion, by what it could do and how ruthless it could be… so there had to be some way to calm her down. A story or something like 'everything's going to be alright' wouldn't have worked, she knew that much. Cheering her up would have felt out of place. Hugs and silence had already proven their effectiveness, but she needed her to be strong. Yet, she couldn't bear to see this girl cry one moment longer. It all reminded her too much of herself when she was just a scared little girl, only this time she had taken the place of her nanny. There: what would have _she_ done in her place?

Screaming-Eagle's eyes lit up.

A song.

And she knew just the one for this. Sure, the lyrics were three Eras old, but with a few adjustments here and there... not everywhere, just key words and names. It wasn't too hard, either. She already had a location, a reason, people… yes, it could work this way.

"_Who took up arms that winter dawn and to Hoover Dam came?_" Screaming-Eagle intoned, her voice clear, gentle and melodic. "_To raise their hands 'gainst tyrants, stand and die in freedom's name?_"

Phoenix's sobs became less frequent; she smiled.

"_Who stood upon the field that hour to answer Mojave's call?_" Screaming-Eagle continued, still tracing her fingers through the girl's hair. "_Men, Vegas-born, all came that morn, to fend the land for all!_"

Phoenix had stopped sobbing, but she still clung to her. She didn't mind.

"_Rise! Rise! To freedom, rise! Arise, ye Vegas sons and daughters!_" Screaming-Eagle sang, a little bit more energic. It was the chorus, after all. "_Ride! Ride! To freedom, ride! Truth and glory to the brave!_"

Finally, she felt Phoenix pull back a little and look at her. Screaming-Eagle turned, smiling, and looked into the girl's green eyes. They were still puffy and bloodshot, her face was flushed, and she was still crying – but she didn't look desperate anymore. She still held her hand. Who could've imagined a readjusted version of 'The Battle of Glenumbra Moors' would have worked that well?

"There are still two stanzas and the chorus, if you're interested." Screaming-Eagle whispered with a raised brow.

Phoenix pressed her head hard against her shoulder and hugged her tight. Screaming-Eagle went stiff for a moment, then she freed her arms and wrapped them around the girl. She felt exactly like her nanny now.

She had to admit, it felt wonderful.

"Th-thanks…" Phoenix stuttered in a shaky whisper, her voice muffled by the robes.

Screaming-Eagle gently caressed her hair and kissed the nape of her head.

She heard voices.

Screaming-Eagle instantly held the girl tight, her head snapping to attention. They were coming from the south, from where the endless Legion camp was located. Fear got hold of her, but she wriggled away from its claws. If it was a small patrol, then she still had enough power in her to hide both, or perhaps even to strike them down. She didn't want to push her luck; she might lose her senses.

When the voices came closer, she frowned.

They were a man and a woman. Why would the Legion employ women?

Phoenix was shaking, but Screaming-Eagle squeezed her shoulder to let her know she was there. Nothing was going to happen to either of them, not if she had a say in all of it.

"… Lost!" The woman shouted, indignant. Her voice had a familiar tone to it. "We're fucking _lost_!"

"We aren't lost!" The man replied in frustration, making Screaming-Eagle let out a relieved breath at the sound of his words. "They're around here… somewhere. I recognize the place."

"Oh, sure, didn't know you were an expert scout like me." The voice that could only belong to Naeera said, sardonical. "That, or we're lost! Face it, Keram-Rei, you took a wrong turn somewhere and led us into the ass-end of nowhere."

"I ALREADY TOLD YOU WE AREN'T LOST, NAEERA!" Keram-Rei shouted at the peak of his exhasperation. "Look around and stop ranting, for Akatosh's sake!"

Screaming-Eagle let out a silent chuckle. Why spoil all the fun and tell them where they were?

Naeera grumbled something under her breath, and she heard the sound of muffled footsteps. She wasn't too far. Then, she stopped abruptly and let out a curse in what sounded like Bretonian. "EXPLAIN THAT!" She screamed in Common Tamrielic – or English, as it was called in this world.

"Long story." Keram-Rei sighed. She could already imagine him waving her off. "We got ambushed, he got in the way."

"Gods, it looks like this guy got in a Daedroth's way…" Naeera said, her voice now much more nasal. She had to be covering her nostrils. "What did this to him?"

Keram-Rei didn't reply for a few seconds. Then, he sighed. "Our girl."

"Is your girl Namira or what?" Naeera croaked, disgusted.

Screaming-Eagle chuckled again.

Silence.

Oh, well, time for playing hide and seek was nearly over anyway. Screaming-Eagle heard footsteps coming close, belonging to just one person. The feet were much lighter than Keram-Rei's boots on the sand, to the point they were barely audible.

A pair of golden eyes peeked from the boulders behind Screaming-Eagle, and she waved her hand. Naeera chuckled. "Looks like I've found them."

Soon, Keram-Rei appeared at the gray female's side, a brow raised. "There you are! How's it going?"

"Much better than before." Screaming-Eagle told him with a grin, when the thought hit her. She frowned, and looked at the two. Keram-Rei was covered in blood. "What of Eyes-Of-Silver?"

Keram-Rei and Naeera exchanged an uncertain look.

Screaming-Eagle grimaced. "Did you… dispose of him?"

"What? No!" Keram-Rei blurted out defensively, scowling and holding his hands up. "He didn't want to come, said he didn't trust us."

"Technically, I don't trust you, either." Naeera told him with a roll of her eyes, then knelt before Screaming-Eagle and eyed Phoenix. "Is this the girl?"

Screaming-Eagle nodded slowly, examining the gray-scaled female. She had golden feathers, golden eyes, and she was short. Her gray armor didn't convince her, nor did her silent movements and her grace. The blood on Keram-Rei was a question she would have an answer for later. "She is."

Naeera lifted the girl's chin and smiled at her, then raised a brow when she saw she'd been crying. "Hello."

"H-hello." Phoenix snivelled weakly in response.

"What's your name?" Naeera asked her.

Phoenix hesitated for a moment. "Phoenix."

Naeera grinned, approving. "You came up with it, didn't you?"

"Yes." Phoenix whispered.

"It's got something to do with your revenge thing, right?" Naeera continued.

Phoenix nodded twice.

"I don't want her to speak of such things in this state, Naeera." Screaming-Eagle said sternly, her hard eyes set into Naeera's. "But yes, she is looking for revenge against the man who tried to kill her."

Naeera's eyes went wide and she rested her backside on her heels, her shoulders slumped in disbelief. "Hold on, _kill_? She's… by the Divines, she can't be older than seventeen!"

"Sixteen." Phoenix feebly corrected her.

"Sixteen!" Naeera repeated, dumbfounded. Then, she shook her head, glanced at the two and made an indignant gesture. "Say no more, I'm in."

Screaming-Eagle frowned and let out a surprised hum. "Just like… that?"

"Screaming-Eagle, there's a ton of things I don't like but I can't possibly interfere with." Naeera began with fierce determination, her golden eyes and her smooth brows set into a scowl. "What I really can't stand, though, is when someone tries to hurt a kid and – don't even try speaking, you're underage, you're still a kid!" She snorted as Phoenix fell back into silence. "As I was saying: if someone wants to get away after doing something bad to a kid, I've got to end them. If you two are trying to help her in fuck this guy up, then count me in."

Keram-Rei cleared his throat, perplexed. He was the only one standing. "Hey, technically speaking… aren't we kids, too?"

"There's a difference between maturation and adulthood?" Naeera asked, speechless.

Screaming-Eagle raised a brow. "I do remember reading something similar."

"Albeit a very conflictual ground for many priests and scholars, the period of time at which an Argonian reaches complete adulthood ranges from twenty-five to thirty-six years of age, despite political and social weight being reached only at the fullfillment of the century. I myself believe thirty-five to be perfect."

They all froze at the sound of the thunderous voice. Phoenix whimpered and huddled closer to her.

The earth beneath them shook as two clawed feet landed on the ground, and a lumbering mass of Dragonbone armor, scars and metal walked in the middle of them with the broadest smile Screaming-Eagle had ever seen.

"So yes, technically speaking, you _are_ children indeed. Or are considered ones, anyway." Eyes-Of-Silver exclaimed, beaming. He looked hideous this up-close, with so many scales missing… "As such, I am the only responsible adult among you. Well met! Keram-Rei, Screaming-Eagle, Naeera… and 'Phoenix', of course." He turned towards the battlemage. "Oh, and Keram-Rei: who exactly did you call a 'mutt'?"

"I called you a mutt!" Keram-Rei shouted, surprise quickly suppressed by anger. Screaming-Eagle was impressed by how quickly he lost his temper. "You've been an absolute dick!"

"Yes, ah, that description might suit my precedent behaviour quite well." Eyes-Of-Silver admitted with a faint smirk. "But, you see, your words have made me think, Keram-Rei. I had decided to stay there, to sit stubborn as a troll and not to move a muscle until you came back to negotiate an agreement." He shrugged. "But you did not. Your scent faded away, and I was left utterly alone in front of the entrance to the massive underground facility that is Vault 24. I therefore decided to follow you and present my most sincere apologies. I originally intended to have this place designed as our mere meeting grounds."

Screaming-Eagle narrowed her eyes, unconvinced. "Originally?"

"I said originally because I was referring to the past, Screaming-Eagle – glad you noticed, shows you are quite the attentive Archmage." Eyes-Of-Silver observed, giving her a slight nod and a smile. Her glare hardened at the compliment. "Now, however, is the present time, and things have changed rapidly. I now see that Keram-Rei's haste did have a reason, after all. I now understand your reason to defend Phoenix and keep her safe." He grinned. "And now, as you have your Phoenix, I have my Maria."

Little footsteps accompanied the name he had boomed. When she saw what stood at the side of a boulder, Screaming-Eagle gasped.

A child.

It was a girl with curly red hair and lapis blue eyes, freckles spread across her face. She was covered in a green robe that was strangely her size, considering how it was usually worn by Nord children. She held her hands behind her back, swinging back and forth on her feet, and stared at the Argonians. She tiptoed towards Eyes-Of-Silver and hid behind one of his greaves.

"Hi." The little girl, Maria, mewled and waved at them faintly.

* * *

From her safe position behind Mr. Wolf's legs, Maria watched.

There were four people there, and only one was a girl like her. Well, maybe older, but she was the only _normal_ one. The other three were all like Mr. Wolf… a little different, alright - but they were all looking at her.

One, a man, stood to the right, near the cliff, and wore a blue armor that almost shone in the moonlight, a sword hanging from his hip. His scales were green, his eyes icy blue. He had horns, and there were red feathers on his head. Another, a woman, sat slightly to her left, with a gray-blue heavy robe and a long stick of wood. She had red scales, red eyes and dark feathers, and horns that bent and pointed forwards. She held the other girl in her arms, and she… she had no tail, oddly enough.

Finally, there was another woman. She was on her knees, sitting on her heels just before the other woman. She had gray scales and a gray armor, but she had feathers like gold and yellow eyes that seemed to gleam. This one was… slightly different from the others and Mr. Wolf. She was smaller, for one, and her head… it looked a bit more like a snake's than a lizard's.

What unsettled Maria the most was the fact she was staring at her with a broad smile – a smile that showed all her razor-sharp teeth. It looked like she wanted to eat her.

"That kid can't be older than ten." The green one said in an amazed tone.

"Hey, I'm eight!" Maria corrected him, scowling.

"Eight!" The gray one squeaked, her hands clasped to her mouth.

Maria shivered.

The red one raised a brow, impressed but cautious. "Did you simply happen to find her?"

"I have _rescued_ her." Mr. Wolf proudly announced. She hugged his metal tail tight. The gray one was still looking at her. "'Twas not easy, but I nonetheless succeeded in saving her."

The green one scratched his neck in uncertainty. "I'm almost scared to ask, but… _where_ did you find her?"

"Inside of the camp south of here." Mr. Wolf said nonchalantly.

Silence ensued.

Maria found it to be deafening. They were all staring, their eyes never leaving her, with their dumbfounded expressions and their quizzical looks… apart from the gray one. She still smiled. That grin was starting to freak her out.

After a good minute, the red one was the first to speak. "You have saved her from… the _Legion_?"

"Oh, they are no more than a raving rabble that merely parodies our idea of Imperial Legion." Mr. Wolf scoffed. Since he'd made his appearance, Maria had been frowning at half of his words. This, however… did he know another Legion? Then, she felt his hand gently patting her head. "Lucky for her, though, I had picked her scent from miles away."

"Scent?" The red one asked, puzzled. "What do you mean by 'scent'?"

The green one looked away. "Well, he's a…"

"He's a werewolf and he's used his sense of smell to find and save a kid!" The gray one piped up, her head tilted and her hands clutching at her heart. Her smile was no less scary. "Oh, Eyes-Of-Silver…"

Maria frowned at the name. Was she talking about Mr. Wolf?

"When were you two planning to tell me he's a _werewolf_, exactly?" The red one all but snarled, incredulous.

"Now is as good a time as any, Screaming-Eagle." Mr. Wolf said with a flick of his wrist. "Although, that is the least of our problems. My senses may prove to be extremely useful in the long run, along with my prowess in battle." He scratched the back of his head. "Not to mention, I know little to nothing about children. So… may I join you?"

Ignoring the green one's scowl, the red one ultimately nodded. "Of course, it was our intent in the first place."

The green one snarled, assuming a fighting stance. "Hey, what do you-"

"Ah, wonderful!" Mr. Wolf cut him short with his cheer and took a step forwards, leaving Maria completely exposed to the others' stares. She liked none of it.

Before she could run behind him, however, he knelt and looked into her eyes, shielding her from view. "Now, do you not believe a proper introduction to be in order?"

"Why did the red one call you 'Eyes-Of-Silver'?" Maria asked him, and shot a glance at the gray one. She was still staring at her. "You're Mr. Wolf."

"In truth, I am both." Mr. Wolf said casually. He bit his lip, as if to search for the right words. "Eyes-Of-Silver is my true name, whereas Mr. Wolf is the name I have been given." He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "My memory is a little unclear and foggy at times: tell me, did you stumble upon me or did someone pass me to you?"

"A kind old lady gave me you… your doll." Maria said, a little confused. How was she supposed to talk about the doll? As a 'you' or as an 'it'?

Mr. Wolf chuckled and shook his head. "Of course, it had to be her…"

Maria's eyes lit up with hope. "Do you know the old lady?"

"Well, I did… it has been quite a long time since I last saw her." Mr. Wolf confessed, his tone a little worried. "I hope she is alright… but yes, the first time she met me she did not think about simply _asking_ for my name, so she gave me one. I see it stuck."

"Who… who are they?" Maria whispered bashfully, trying to hide behind him and hugging his arm.

"Do you see the one on the right, the male?" Mr. Wolf asked as he turned to look at him. Maria nodded. "He is Keram-Rei, battlemage. It means he uses both weapons and magic to fight."

"It's a weird name." She commented. Her mind attempted to repeat it, but it didn't manage. "And I don't think I can say it. Can I call him Ray?"

"I believe he will be fine." He shrugged, and his eyes moved a little. "And the red female, the one without her tail? She is Screaming-Eagle, a pure mage."

It was then that she focused on a particular word.

"Eagle can use _magic_?" Maria asked, wide-eyed. The very notion was dizzying. "And Ray, too?"

"Yes they can." Mr. Wolf simply stated with a grin.

Before she could be any more incredulous, she noticed the set of golden eyes still fixed on her, and pulled at his elbow. "Who's the gray one? She's scaring me."

"Who, Naeera?" He asked her, all but laughing. She failed to see the hilarity in all of it. "Naeera is probably the most adorable thief you will ever find, you have nothing to worry about."

Maria let out a little sigh of relief. If Mr. Wolf said she could trust this Naeera, then it was fine.

"Now, follow me." Mr. Wolf told her, earning a series of quick nods. "Nothing shall happen to you if even one of us is nearby, but I can perfectly understand this new situation puts you in quite a quandary."

She frowned. "In a what?"

"Indecision." He chuckled and caressed her hair. Then, he stood up and extended his tail towards her. "Now, ladies and gentlemen, I suppose it is time for us to leave, yes?"

As soon as he spoke those words, Naeera, Eagle and the girl stood up, the last two supporting each other, while Ray grumbled something and hurriedly took the lead. Maria held Mr. Wolf's tail tight, even though this meant she nearly had to run to keep up with his long strides. Luckily, he seemed to keep walking at the pace of the others – pretty slowly.

It… didn't matter, really, she was used to much worse. Yet this came to her as a relief. She could finally just _walk_, there was no delivery, no task, nothing. She just had to follow them, plain and simple. She didn't have to worry about being beaten, or being screamed at, or being hated, or being looked at funny.

A childish giggle next to her sent shivers down her spine.

Maria slowly turned her head, her wide open eyes meeting Naeera's. She tugged at Mr. Wolf's tail twice.

"H-hi." She tried, unblinking. She had the nasty feeling that if she blinked, Naeera would move as fast as a snake and _eat_ her. No matter what Mr. Wolf said, she was just… terrifying.

Naeera clasped a hand to her mouth and waved. Her teeth were still visible. "Hi!"

Maria pulled again at Mr. Wolf's tail. What was taking him so long to notice?

"You're so… _cute_!" Naeera all but shrieked in delight. Her tail was wrapped around her right leg.

Maria's blood ran cold. She hugged Mr. Wolf's tail and never broke eye contact. Her eyes were beginning to sting and she nearly tripped over a rock.

"Can I hug you?" Naeera asked, hopeful.

Maria yelped in distress, but it seemed like Mr. Wolf wasn't going to do _anything_ about this – was he even noticing her as he walked? What was she supposed to do now? This couldn't be good, she couldn't get distracted, she couldn't afford to lose one second of focus and-

She blinked.

A pair of hands took hold of her and lifted her off the ground in a fraction of a second, holding her in a deadly embrace.

Maria screamed, fought and thrashed with all of her forces against it in hope of being freed again, but the arms were tight as a vice. Her breaths came in quick and short, her legs hopelessly kicking against her captor, her arms pressed against her sides. She could feel hot breath blowing on the top of her head.

"NO! _NO!_ DON'T EAT ME!" She futilely screeched and writhed in the deadly vise. Her kicks found their target in Naeera's belly more than a few times, yet they did little to let her move. The thief, on her part, just let out a little laugh in amusement. There she was, defenseless in the claws of a monster, without her capable of doing absolutely _nothing_ about it.

Memories of the tent came rushing to her mind. She couldn't fight back the tears they brought and just screamed inconsistent noises – only this time, there was no being saved. There was nothing she could do to stop it, Mr. Wolf hadn't done anything. It felt like she'd been abandoned to this gray, frightening thing that was Naeera to be devoured, and no one raised a finger to stop her. She was going to be eaten, she knew it, and the feeling of scaly lips against her forehead only confirmed her fears. This was the end, soon her teeth were going to sink in her forehead, and-

Maria frowned.

The noise left her in utter puzzlement. There was no pain, no blood, no teeth sinking, no horrible pain and agony, just… a familiar sensation. Strange, given how these were scales and not normal skin, but…

Had Naeera just given her a smacker?

"Oh, no, no, don't cry!" Naeera murmured for what had to be the second time, holding her tight. Maria noticed the embrace wasn't as tight as she had thought, it was just… she didn't mean to hurt her. It hadn't even been her intention in the first place. It was just a hug. "Come on, kids in Riften used to go crazy whenever I did that… I'm sorry!"

Maria tried to look up and saw what might have been a sorry expression on Naeera's face. Her brows were raised, her mouth was curved in a grimace, and her eyes were filled with concern. She gave her a peck and held her tighter, perhaps a little too tight. No, definitely _too tight_.

"Can't… breathe…" Maria croaked in a low voice, struggling to let air into her lungs. The tears stopped falling from her eyes, which she kept open wide in shock now. The thief might've been smaller than the other three, but her grip was _strong_. Definitely stronger than any other legionary's, that was sure.

"Oh, sorry, sorry, sorry!" Naeera muttered and eased her grasp. With a quick movement (almost nauseatingly so, given the fact they were walking down a slope), she held her like an infant and cradled her – even though she was just a foot taller than her. Maria's head rested in the croon of her arm, giving her a perfect view of her soft smile. "Better now, huh?"

Maria nodded sheepishly. Her cheeks felt a lot hotter than before. "Yes..."

Naeera giggled. "Gods, you're so cute when you're blushing!"

Maria couldn't help but giggle along. This was one of the few times she had received a compliment not based on her efficiency or speed when delivering something. The people that had showed her their affection or that had been generally nice to her she could count on her fingers. Two in a day was a new record. Well, Mr. Wolf technically didn't count since she'd known him for years, but this time he could actually talk.

So yes, two. Still a record.

"Oh, wait – want me to let you go?" Naeera whispered. She sounded concerned.

Maria considered the offer. It was either walking on her own, or being _carried_. She wasn't one to use other people in such way, though, since she knew first-person how being used felt like. Either way, this would've given her a perfect opportunity to talk to one of Mr. Wolf's friends. That's what he'd called them, 'friends'. He had said she was safe whenever she was around even one of them; Naeera was the best to start, despite the initial misunderstanding. With her gray scales, her soft chest (perfect pillow for Maria's head) and her golden, caring eyes… she had also mentioned other kids, so she had to know something, right? Other slaves were good, sure, but she looked like she had always been around children. Plus, in retrospection, she would've liked a hug like that _a lot_, had she known the thief's intentions.

In the end, she just nestled in her arms to find a more comfortable position. "Nah."

Naeera shook her head and giggled softly. "So, how did Eyes-Of-Silver find you?" She asked in a low voice, a brow raised in curiosity. "Your camp was attacked and he saved you?"

"His name's Mr. Wolf." Maria stubbornly informed her. No matter what he said, it was his name and she would call him like that.

Naeera suppressed a shriek of glee and beamed. "_Mr. Wolf?_ That's the most _adorable_ name I've ever heard!"

"Do not even think about calling me like that, Naeera." Mr. Wolf growled in a lower tone than usual. It sounded like a threat, but just a playful one.

"Calling you what?" Ray repeated, puzzled, completely ignoring Mr. Wolf's words. Maria turned her head to see he was looking over his shoulder, frowning.

"Maria calls him Mr. Wolf!" Naeera exclaimed with a laugh.

"It is… a rather lovely name." Eagle remarked with vague interest. The girl she leaned against managed a weak chuckle.

"_Mr. Wolf_, huh?" Ray snickered impishly to himself before turning away. "A true warrior's name."

Mr. Wolf shook his head and grumbled something, shaking his head vigorously. Then, he sighed. "Not the right place to argue over a name…"

"But imagine just how it would frighten your enemies!" Ray continued, struggling to contain his laughter. "The great Dragonborn, saviour of Nirn, bane of Alduin: _Mr. Wolf!_"

"Oh, stop it, both of you." Eagle grunted in annoyance. "Keram-Rei, stop being an idiot."

Ray groaned in protest. "Oh, come on…"

"Where are we going?" Maria asked out loud, genuinely curious. On a little sidenote, she also wanted to spare Mr. Wolf the embarassment of having someone else call him like that – or having his friends argue over it. Eyes-Of-Silver was a really nice name, after all, and it would've felt inappropriate if his friends started calling him with his special name. Especially if Ray had to be that annoying about it.

"Across Lake Mead." Ray replied with a calm shrug. "We have two boats there."

Maria's eyes widened at the response. This meant they were actually going away from the Legion, in the land they didn't own. She'd heard other slaves talking about people that thought and said whatever they wanted and other incredible tales, such as the complete ban of slavery or the freedom of choosing their own _work_! No, she had to be sure about this, she might have been mistaken. "Over the lake and the river?"

"Over the lake and the river." Ray confirmed matter-of-factly, nodding.

The only appropriate response she could think of was a yelp of excitement and a little clap. If they managed to get there, she was going to be free – _free!_ Not for a day or two, but forever! Oh, how many things she could do… first was learning to read and write. Seeing all those signs and not being capable of making out the letters was really, really bothersome. Second, she had always wanted a really tall house, like the tower up on the Fort's Hill. The view from up there must have been _incredible_. Third, she was going to ask Mr. Wolf for cool stories. Maybe…

"You've never been outside?" Naeera inquired in a low voice, distracting her from her mental list as they went lower and lower towards the shore of the lake. When she looked back at her, she noticed the look of puzzlement on her face.

"I've always been with the Legion." Maria replied simply, nothing more, nothing less. If she didn't know kids were used as slaves into the Legion, then maybe she didn't really need to know it at all. "I didn't like it there, it was smelly and the legionaries were mean, but I got used to it."

Naeera laughed quietly and muttered something about a place called 'Riften'. Was that where she came from? Well, if it was the place someone like _her_ came from, it had to be a really long way from the camp. "Are you excited?"

"Yes!" Maria said, barely containing her joy. Her brain was working in the background to add even more projects to her ever-increasing list of things. "Especially for Mr. Wolf! He couldn't talk before, but now he can – and I'm going to ask him _so many_ things!"

"Oh, really?" Naeera asked her with a raised brow and a grin.

"He couldn't talk when he was a plushie, but now he can." Maria confirmed, nodding solemnly. She tried to get near Naeera's… well, not ears, but whatever they were. The thief lowered her head to hear. "I think it's because I called him."

"No way!" Naeera gasped in amazement, wide-eyed. "That place looked _huge_! How did he find you?"

"We're best best friends, it must've been super easy." Maria continued in her explanation, thrilled to see there was somebody else interested in how Mr. Wolf had saved her. Sure, it was amazing, but telling someone about it was even better. "And he's Mr. _Wolf_, he's got the nose of a dog, but… better!"

"Hey, I heard that!" Mr. Wolf admonished her and scowled.

"I said better!" Maria protested defensively, causing Naeera to burst into a fit of laughter. Ray soon joined in, along with Mr. Wolf and Eagle. She couldn't help but follow. It was strange now, to have people laugh just like that. The best thing was they weren't legionaries, and they weren't laughing _at_ her, but _with_ her. Any slave tried to do that and it was a one-way ticket for the whip. Here, everything was so different, they all laughed, _all_ of them!

The only one to remain silent, though, was the other girl.

She walked sombrely alongside Eagle, supporting her with an arm and being supported in return. Her hair was black as night, completely hiding her face. Her… suit, or whatever it was looked torn and ragged, encrusted with things that looked foul enough on their own and stunk three times worse. Whereas Eagle looked shaky because she was missing her tail (or so she guessed, since everyone else seemed to have one), the girl had no apparent reason to walk in such a wobbly way. Plus, she hadn't talked _once_ since Maria had seen her.

"She looks sad." Maria whispered at Naeera, pointing towards the girl at Eagle's side. "What's wrong?"

"I don't know, she's been crying, that's all I can tell." Naeera murmured back with a shrug. "Why?"

"I want to talk to her." Maria said resolutely, her eyes narrowed on the girl as if to examine her better and understand her problem. "Can I go there?"

"Of course you can." Naeera simply replied and, in a few careful moves, she placed her hands under Maria's armpits and gently set her on the ground.

Maria gave a strong nod to herself and hurried along, her tiny feet carrying her towards the two in a matter of few, swift strides. Well, they were short steps for anyone else, but they felt like strides to her. She decided to take the girl's hand in hers.

It earned her a weak noise of curiosity.

"Hi!" Maria piped up, slowly but surely beginning to suppress the voice that told her not to trust strangers. Now she could talk with anyone she wanted – within reason, of course. Mr. Wolf had to give his approval. "What's your name?"

"Ph-Phoenix." The girl answered weakly, her hair covering her face.

Eagle leaned in forwards to look at her. Her red eyes could only be described as tired, and her feathers looked ruffled. She just looked really, really tired – her scales were basically wrinkled around her eyes. "Hello, Maria. I have nothing against you, but… just an advice. Phoenix here has had a horrible moment, could you please-"

"Was it the Legion?" Maria interrupted the red-scaled mage, or rather outright ignored her.

"Maria!" Eagle chided her, indignant. Her eyes were now very much alive and very, _very_ angry. "This is the wrong place and the wrong time to ask such questions!"

"I've seen the Legion do a lot of bad things, too." Maria continued, a little sad, and latched her fingers to Phoenix's larger hand. Eagle immediately silenced herself. "If you let them make you cry, they win. That's what they do: they scare people, because they're all mean and dumb. They don't like it when other people are happy because then it's harder to make them feel bad and they can't win." She squeezed the girl's hand. "Don't let them win."

"Oh…" Phoenix squeezed her hand back. "Thank you…"

Maria gave her a big smile and nodded, both at her and at Eagle, making to get back to Naeera. Then, she remembered there was somebody she hadn't actually talked to at all. Mr. Wolf was Mr. Wolf, she'd known him for the better part of four years. Naeera was great, not very much to add to it. Eagle had been a little annoying, true, but she was just worried about Phoenix. Talking about Phoenix… she just had to get through whatever had happened and, since they were a group of friends, it was much, much easier. There was just one person left now.

"Hey." Maria called, earning Ray's attention as she approached him.

"Oh, hi there." Ray said distractedly, not even looking at her. Upon closer inspection she noticed that his armor, comprised of arm, shoulder, chest and all other plates, looked just like glass. This material, however, was a much more vivid blue, and definitely… _colder_. She imagined it was the reason he wore that brown, warm-looking suit underneath and the fluffy bits on his neck, arms and legs. There was no other reason to wear those in a desert, apart from… well, the night. His sword's scabbard was fantastic, made of polished leather and bone-white bits that wove a geometric pattern on it. He looked like a hero.

Ray's behavior, however, appeared to be the opposite to that of a hero. His steps were quick, his tail wagged sharply left and right, and he often looked at his left arm. He looked pretty nervous up-close, maybe even scared. She wondered why, or if it had anything to do with the stains on his face, neck and armor. "What's the matter?" He continued as soon as he noticed she wasn't going.

"Where are the boats?" Maria asked. She hoped he might want to talk this way. Out of everyone else, he looked the most like one of those heroes in the stories some slaves told her. What were they called? Oh, right, 'knites'. He had the potential to be the most interesting, counting he used both magic, like Eagle, and a sword that must've looked awesome.

Ray casually raised a finger and pointed forwards and below. It was shaking slightly, but she didn't say it out loud. "They're just over there, can you see them?"

Maria squinted through the darkness in front of her. The fact she had no idea what a boat looked like didn't help, either. There were boulders, large and round, the high walls of the cliffs around them, filled with cracks and eroded, the lake's rocky shore, the silvery moon high above… and there, she noticed two dark shapes half-hidden behind a pair of large rocks. They weren't natural, that much was clear, and they looked just big enough to carry people. She gave a sure nod. "I see them."

"As you see, less than a minute." Ray dismissed her with a distracted flick of his wrist. He really didn't want anyone around, didn't he?

Just then she noticed the heavy, gray _thing_ attached to his left forearm, and went to touch it. It was cold and it glowed green, but most of all it was big. Much bigger than her arm, that was sure. It wasn't smooth like his gauntlets, which were trimmed with chrome metal and nothing else. It had so many forms, shapes and buttons going on she didn't even know what way she was supposed to look at it.

Ray jerked his arm away in the blink of an eye, leaving her fingers stroke nothing and staring into her eyes with his piercing blue eyes. "Hey, don't touch it!"

"Why?" Maria instictively asked, confused. "Is it precious?"

"No, I… just don't like when people touch it." Ray grumbled, mostly to himself. "Don't do that again."

He didn't sound too convincing, not at all.

Maria edged in a little closer, just enough that her whispers could be heard by him. That surely caught his attention. "Is it something magic?"

"Magic, sure." Ray growled, his eyes focused on the now-closer boats. He surely wasn't distracted _now_, and it somehow scared her. "But bad magic, not mine. I just fight and help people with my magic, the thing inside the Pip-Boy… you don't want to know him."

Part of Maria wanted to run away at the thought of what evil magic could do, but a larger part of her wanted to know more. So there _was_ a reason for Ray to be all jumpy and nervous. What could it be? It was bad, that much was clear, but the way he had referred to it had interested her the most. "_Him?_"

"And here we are!" Ray announced, openly ignoring her question and leaving her there, her arms folded across her chest in disappointment. What an obnoxious way to dodge a question. "So, how are we going to-"

"I could just take my armour off and swim." Mr. Wolf coolly proposed. It showed once again how calm he sounded whenever he wanted to do something reckless. He hadn't been able to talk until now, true, but his looks sometimes told her to do plain stupid things as if they were the safest in the world – like trying to sneak into the kitchens. Good thing nobody had seen her that time…

"No!" Phoenix all but shrieked, earning everyone's attention and making Maria literally jump around. She was holding her hand out as if to grab him and hold him. Her face finally showed from underneath her hair. She looked pretty, she couldn't deny, and her eyes were a really nice shade of green, although puffy and red. "D-don't swim in the lake. Lakelurks."

"Fine, fine, no need to overdramatise this…" Mr. Wolf sighed and massaged his temples. "One for me, the other for the rest of you."

"Say what now?" Naeera snorted, amazed. "And why is that?"

"Because I, my replacement limbs, armour and weapons may very well weigh just as much as all of you put together." Mr. Wolf simply replied with a shrug. It could have veiled some annoyance, if the glance he flashed at the thief was anything to go by. "Is that reason enough for you? Or would you rather have me sink and swim to the other shore anyway?"

"Can I come with you, Mr. Wolf?" Maria asked hopefully. She was small and thin, she wouldn't weigh that much, right?

Mr. Wolf gave her a faint smile and shook his head. "Too dangerous. I would rather have you on a boat with everyone else, it would be much safer. Besides, the tiniest amount of weight could make the difference between me rowing and me trying to dry over two hundred pounds of Dragonbone armour. Not counting axes and ebony arm and tail, of course."

Maria opened her mouth uncertainly. What did that even _mean_?

"Which is to say, way too much trouble and time." Mr. Wolf summed up.

Maria gave a nod and slumped her shoulders, pouting. "But…"

"Come on Maria, we can sit together if you like." Naeera said cheerfully. "Besides, it can't be more than an hour, right?"

"No, of course not." Ray replied.

"See?" Naeera hummed, caressing her hair. "Come on, we're all going to have to sleep together anyway. What do you say?"

Maria's smile quickly returned upon her face. "On soft, comfy beds?"

"The softest, comfiest beds you can think of." Naeera confirmed and winked with a broad grin.

Things were just getting better and better.

* * *

Keram-Rei heaved a sigh and kept rowing. Just a few more paddles and they would reach the ground, they would finally get to those damnable Hoover Dam Lodge docks and he would finally get some sleep.

He had to admit the kid, Maria, was cute. She was just so sweet, the way she talked to everyone and how close she was to Naeera… if Eyes-Of-Silver had really saved her from that Legion camp, then he could only respect that werewolf. Those bastards kept children as slaves, who knew what some of the more twisted ones could do to them.

Maria didn't seem to mind, though. It looked like the prospect of friends had made her completely forget any and all abuses she'd endured there. She was just a little beam of happiness and sunlight.

Keram-Rei dreaded the thought of Treads-In-Gloom taking over near her. The Pip-Boy hadn't made one sound, and it scared him even more.

He sighed once again as the boat hit the shore, this time in relief. Naeera took Maria and climbed over the side of the boat, Phoenix gave Screaming-Eagle a hand, and he just vaulted over and landed steadily onto the sand. They both looked better than when they had sat down. As a matter of fact, the mage was a little more stable, while the Courier definitely looked… maybe not happy, but certainly not as morally devastated as when he'd left her.

After throwing the paddles into the rowboat he saw the imposing figure of Eyes-Of-Silver waving at them, standing next to a building slightly larger than the boathouse. Keram-Rei waved back. The werewolf had arrived a good five minutes earlier than them. Heavy as he said he was, he had biceps larger than the battlemage's thighs – those had given him quite an advantage. Enough to look find them a decent place to sleep, at least.

However productive the day might have been, Keram-Rei knew it had been a rough day for everyone. While he really didn't want to sleep, ignoring what would await him, he noticed just how heavy his eyelids felt. The doors to Blackreach had to be lighter. It seemed a miracle to him that Screaming-Eagle and Phoenix hadn't fallen asleep during the trip. Naeera… well, alright, she and Maria looked vital enough. Eyes-Of-Silver, however, had the distinctively drained look of someone who had turned recently.

Guessing when or why wasn't that hard.

"I believe I have found a suitable location for tonight." Eyes-Of-Silver greeted them when they got within earshot, pointing at the squat wooden building next to the boathouse. This one had been gray at one point, or maybe… beige, or cream. Hard to tell from what little paint remained. The windows looked intact, though, and so did the door.

"Good job." Keram-Rei nodded, opened the door and waited for the females to enter. Just as he was about to set foot inside, though, a gigantic hand nailed him in place.

"Keram-Rei?" Eyes-Of-Silver asked in a low voice. He turned to meet his eyes and saw he was… uncertain? "Could you please spare a minute?"

Keram-Rei chuckled and glanced at the metal hand pressed hard on his right shoulder. He didn't let any of his fear show."Of course."

"I have something to tell you." Eyes-Of-Silver announced him in a whisper. It sounded more like a growl said in his usual tone.

Keram-Rei raised a brow and waved him off. Any other time, he would have rather eaten his own horns than stand that close to the werewolf. "I can already imagine you're sorry for the whole Vault 24 thing – it's cool, really. No need to apologize."

Eyes-Of-Silver frowned in return, amused. "Am I so predictable?"

"Pretty much." Keram-Rei shrugged. "That's all?"

Eyes-Of-Silver glanced down to his Pip-Boy for a fraction of a second, then looked into his eyes once again. "Yes, for now." He gestured at the door. "After you."

Keram-Rei nodded his thanks and got inside. Wood creaked instantly underneath his boots. He was surprised to find himself into a small corridor, with two doors on each side. He took a step and felt something other than wood under his foot, which he retracted almost instantly. On the ground was a bent plaque that read, in bold, blocky letters: 'LAKE MEAD MARINA - ADMINISTRATION'.

Nice, offices. The vague information he had immideately listed the rooms as little more than cells without bars to the doors and a desk in the middle, but two people could squeeze in and sleep just fine – if they had sleeping bags, that was.

Phoenix and Screaming-Eagle entered the first door on the right, while Naeera waited outside of the last one on the right and Maria waited for Eyes-Of-Silver next to the first on the left. Keram-Rei sighed and got moving. It gave him the last door.

"Ray, Ray!" Maria piped up, tugging at his fingers.

"What is it?" Keram-Rei asked, trying not to make the irritation seep through his words. Why did she have to call him 'Ray', of all things? "Something wrong?"

"I'm hungry." Maria told him with a pout. "Eagle says you're great with food."

Keram-Rei pressed the palm of his free hand against his snout in frustration. He didn't want to stay anywhere near her with Treads-In-Gloom inside of him and there she was. It almost looked like she was doing it on purpose. "I can't really cook right now. I can't light a fire here. Besides, it takes time."

Maria pouted harder and pleaded him with her big blue eyes. "Please?"

"Oh, alright, fine." Keram-Rei groaned aloud, to which the little girl let go of his fingers and gave him a happy nod. "How about a sandwich?"

"Sounds good to me." Naeera said, leaning against the wall. "Ham and cheese for me. Maria, what would you like?"

"What's ham?" Maria asked, confused. "And what's cheese?"

"Ham and cheese for her, too." Naeera said through a broad smile.

Keram-Rei sighed as an amused Eyes-Of-Silver went for the door behind Maria. He sat on the ground, took a loaf of bread from his satchel and cut four… no, six slices from it with a steel dagger. Getting rid of all that blood had emptied him, he needed something to eat. He wiped clean a spot on his greave with his unarmored forearm and set the bread there. Then, he took out a bowl of mammoth cheese and-

"What in Oblivion is _that_?" Naeera basically gagged, her eyes narrowed. "It's… Gods, that smell's so intense!"

"Yeah!" Maria agreed, almost undecided as if to be puzzled or disgusted.

"Mammoth cheese, really sweet, full of nutrients." Keram-Rei shrugged. Yes, it had a strong, distinctive aroma, but nowhere near eidar cheese in his opinion. He also took a large piece of smoked ham and set it next to the bread.

"How did you even _get_ mammoth cheese?" Naeera asked, frowning. "Only giants eat it."

"Giants aren't that smart, they're easy to sneak past." Keram-Rei hummed impassively as he cut a slice of ham and set it on a square of bread, only to add a bit of cheese and set another slice of bread on top of it all. He handed the finished product to the little girl. "There you go, Maria."

"Thank you." Maria hastily murmured in return before she savaged her sandwich. Divines knew what she used to eat at the Legion camp.

The other two sandwiches were done in a matter of seconds. He gave Naeera hers before he munched down on his own. How long had it been since he'd eaten a sandwich? Well, all considering…

Yesterday.

A pity he didn't have all that time to cook, what with him exploring, fighting and overall not having time to cook properly for himself. Besides, he didn't really see the point in cooking grand meals for one person only, except for wasting his ingredients. When he had somebody else around, though, he liked to do his best, be them fellow soldiers, friends or simple guests. Right now, he had no time for that. He was tired, and the other half of them didn't need to eat.

A little moan of pleasure from Naeera raised the feathers on his head, and maybe something else. "That was… delicious!"

"Uhm… glad you liked it." Keram-Rei managed with a curt nod.

Maria, instead, tiptoed next to him. The front of her little dress and her face were covered in crumbs. She gave him a kiss on the cheek, smiled and ran back to Eyes-Of-Silver's room.

Keram-Rei blinked twice.

"Aww, she likes you!" Naeera cooed with a smile. "Isn't she cute?"

"Exactly the reason I try to stay away from her." Keram-Rei grunted as he got to his feet. "I'll summon an Atronach as a guard, goodnight."

Naeera giggled the moment he went through the doorway. "Don't be so quick to wish me goodnight."

Keram-Rei shook his head and got outside. The stars shone high above, lighting the gray, cracked asphalt of the road and parking lots before him. He let the wind blow on his scales. It was good to stop for a moment and just… stay still, let everything fade away for a moment. Alas, he had no time for that. He balled his fists as rays of purple energy danced between his fingers, then held them high and finally opened his palms towards the ground.

For an instant, a purpureus light shone and blinked out of existence. The asphalt shattered as a being of rock, dirt and concrete made its way through the earth and towards the surface. First emerged large fists, followed by thinner arms and a broad, broad chest. It became less massive towards the waist, under which two comically tiny legs helped it stabilize over the small crater from which it had emerged. The thing stood like the gorillas of the jungles of Valenwood, although its features resembled more those of the Imga – it was always simian in appearance, though. Its rocky hide was yellow sand and red streaked with gray, and it looked down at him through two tiny luminous eyes on its small head.

"You are to guard this place until all of its occupants are awake in the morning, Earth Atronach." Keram-Rei addressed the now-corporeal Daedra. He wasn't that great a conjurer, but these were by far the sturdiest and easiest wardens Cojuration students went for. A little dense at times, but great for strength and brute force. "If anything or anyone dangerous gets within a thousand feet from here, come inside and warn us. Don't let anyone get inside of that circle, and don't wander off like you usually do. You are bound to this… Administration Center until your duty is considered discharged. Understood?"

The Earth Atronach gave him a curt nod and began its patrol circle around the building. Pretty pointless, since it could sense threats like any other Daedra, but he let that slide. Earth Atronachs liked patrolling.

Keram-Rei entered the office, going for the last door on the left. He opened it, turned around and…

Cursed.

The roof and a wall were missing. The Earth Atronach spared him a puzzled glance from outside and moved over again.

Keram-Rei took a step backwards, slammed the door closed and instinctively opened the opposite one.

"See?"

He turned around to meet Naeera's smug smile. She lay in her bedroll just next to an upturned wooden desk, covered up to her neck in a white fur blanket, and looked up at him. "I told you not to wish me goodnight so soon."

Keram-Rei rolled his eyes and took his own bedroll out of his satchel, carefully unrolling it on the ground and patting away the dust. He unlocked his Pip-Boy and set it on the ground next to him before he took his boots and gauntlets off. He unbelted his satchel, putting it next to the Pip-Boy, followed close by his Dragonbone sword. Then came the bracers and greaves, his chestplate, his groin plate and his kneepads.

He quickly got out of his brown leather stuffed suit and placed it next to the pile of Stalhrim plates on the ground, leaving him only in a black loincloth. He plucked the satchel open and took out a blue sleeveless tunic with matching pants. It was comfortable, linen. He put it on, folded his green blanket and finally rested on his side, putting his Pip-Boy back on before anything horrible happened and giving his tail some room in order to avoid laying on it.

His eyes met a pair of golden orbs.

He blinked.

"Nice ass, by the way." Naeera commented with an impish grin.

Keram-Rei's mind stopped responding, crushed as it was by the gargantuan mole of embarassment and shame flooding inside and shutting everything else off. Why hadn't he thought, just for a moment, that _Naeera_ was still in the room while he undressed?

Naeera giggled like crazy. "Oh man, you should see the look on your face!"

Keram-Rei turned on his side and, once the only sight became the wooden wall, he closed his eyes.

He was hopeless.

"Goodnight, Keram-Rei…" Naeera managed before bursting into another fit of giggles.

"Goodnight." Keram-Rei grunted, although it came out more as a squeak. It just added to Naeera's snickering.

Great, he could add this to the list of times he had made a fool out of himself. There went his pride, too: so much for his wet dreams, if he was too embarassed to get undressed in front of anyone else. Alright, all of the scenarios he always pictured were highly unlikely anyway, but this just contributed to sweeping his morale under the carpet.

On top of that, though, he could pride himself in having a nice ass.

That gave him an idea.

"Uhm, Naeera?" He called in a low voice, uncertain. "Are you sleeping?"

"Definitely." She answered, semi-serious.

Keram-Rei took in a deep breath and turned. She'd basically seen him naked, there wasn't much better in the way of being laughed at. "Do you think I look good?"

Naeera looked like she was going to choke. "Real subtle, huh?"

"I'm not talking about you, I'm talking in general!" He hissed, his teeth half-bared. "It's for Screaming-Eagle."

Her eyes lit up. "Oooh, so you _do_ like her!"

"Naeera, go fuck yourself." Keram-Rei deadpanned. The last thing he needed was her acting like a little girl. "This is serious."

"The thing you have to get into your mind is: looks will hardly work on someone like Screaming-Eagle." Naeera sighed with a roll of her eyes. "You're an idiot-"

"Hey!" He grunted, offended.

"- So try to make her laugh." She finished, scowling at him. "Be spontaneous, don't force jokes into everything, don't rehearse and rearrange what you're going to say. It won't work. And for the love of Dibella, don't try to act cool. Be yourself."

Keram-Rei hummed in consideration and scratched his chin, nodding pensively. "Uh-huh…"

"That's all, really." Naeera said with a shrug. "As long as sex isn't your only goal, you should be fine. Because I can tell with someone like her, it's going to take you _a lot_ to get laid."

He gave her a slightly less convinced nod. "Got it…"

She grinned. "For the rest, you'll have to cash up."

"Gah, goodnight, Naeera." Keram-rei groaned and turned on his other side, irritated. "But… thank you."

Naeera yawned. "Anytime."

Keram-Rei closed his eyes, got comfortable…

And didn't fall asleep.

Fuck.

He just let out a sigh. At this point, the only thing he could do was wait. Damn, he had felt so tired just moments before, what had happened? Had the discussion with Naeera done anything? Well, probably yes – but he still found it to be annoying as fuck.

So he waited, and waited, and _waited_… one of the most boring things he'd ever done, apart from maybe studying theoretical Illusion. Now _that_ school of magic was boring. All the sigils, all the theories, all the people saying alterating someone was useless if you could make people think otherwise…

Oh, did his eyelids feel heavy… he smiled and yawned.

Then, someone screamed.


	11. Restless Night

Maria brought a hand to her mouth and let out a little yawn. She blinked once or twice so that she could see more clearly and turned on her side, wondering if Mr. Wolf was sleeping. Her eyes shot wide open.

She saw nobody.

Gut-wrenching fear took hold of Maria. She had fallen asleep almost immediately after Mr. Wolf had begun reading her a story, something about a grumpy old 'troll', whatever a troll was. She had gone to sleep with a smile on her face, for finally she wasn't sleeping in the Legion camp she hated so much and in which she'd lived as long as she could remember. When she'd woken up, however, the smile had vanished from her lips in an instant.

Mr. Wolf was gone.

Maria instinctively let out a shriek in terror as tears began to streak down her cheeks. Where had he gone? Why had he left her all alone in the middle of the night? What had happened while she was sleeping? Was… was it because of something she'd done, something she wasn't supposed to do or say? She racked her brain trying to find an answer, each more dreadful than the other while she curled up on the bedroll she had woken into and sobbed loudly.

Had this all been a dream, a cruel joke her mind had played on her? Her cries grew more desperate at the thought, yet she couldn't bring herself to think of anything else. This meant Mr. Wolf had never been real, her new friends had never been real, it was back to the camp, back to slavery, back to work, back to the legionaries, back to _Hell_…

Maria hugged her knees tight and pressed her cheek hard on them. It was all insane… had _she_ gone insane? Maybe it was something the Legion had done to her, maybe Mr. Wolf had never come to save her and the legionary had done something to her. She grit her teeth and closed her eyes shut, but she kept on wailing and spilling tears nonetheless. She couldn't believe it had all been fake, it wasn't possible after all she'd been through. Mr. Wolf's rescue had been a relief – and now it had been taken away from her.

She heard a door swing open followed by a series of footsteps, but she didn't care. There wasn't a door the last time she remembered being in the camp, who knew where she'd been dragged. Perhaps where they kept all those women, where everyone told her not to go. They had gotten her now, and there was nothing she could do. It was the end.

A hand caressed her hair, but Maria recoiled in fear. There were voices. She didn't care for what they were saying, engrossed as she was in her despair. Why, oh why? It had been so real, so _vivid_, and now it was all gone, taken away from her in a heartbeat. She clenched her small hands in frustration. It had all been a joke, an illusion…

Two bare arms enveloped her and held her tight to their owner's bosom. She felt a pair of lips gently kissing her head. Maria thought it had to be another woman sharing her fate, when she finally began to recognize the voices as familiar. She opened an eye, but a veil of raven hair covered her vision. The stench was almost unbearable.

"Shh, everything's going to be okay." A young voice whispered in her ear, one that had possessed a weak tone just an hour before. "We're here."

Maria sobbed in relief and hugged Phoenix as tight as she could. This meant it hadn't been a dream, it had all been real. The best day of her entire life had happened. She wasn't in the Legion camp, she was on the shore of Lake Mead, away from that nightmarish place and away from its rusty walls.

Most important, she wasn't alone.

Fingers ran through her hair, although the skin on these was harder, rougher. No voice came, but a glimpse of dark red told her this was Eagle.

"How did he even sneak out like that?" Maria heard Ray wonder aloud, every syllable pronounced with utter confusion. "He's eight feet tall!"

"He's also a werewolf, even a big guy like him can be sneaky." Came a voice she knew well, shortly accompanied by the sound of a slap and a grunt of pain from Ray. "And stop staring."

"Naeera!" Eagle managed, indignated. "We have a _child_ here!"

"Don't blame me, first thing I found." Naeera dismissed her, sighing.

Maria heard muffled steps coming closer and closer, up until Phoenix loosened her embrace and she felt a gentle hand delicately lifting her chin. She met a pair of golden eyes and a reassuring smile from Naeera. She was wearing a tight-fitting, black-leather bodyglove that didn't really cover its wearer like it was supposed to. It revealed much of her gray scales.

"Hey, what happened?" Naeera asked, slightly tilting her head.

"Mr… Mr. Wolf is gone!" Maria sobbed, suddenly brought back to the question at hand. "Wh-where is he?"

"Oh, don't worry, he'll be back soon." Naeera reassured her as she knelt with a broad smile. She winked. "You know, wolves need to hunt."

"But he could've told me!" Maria replied, her eyes tearing up again. "We… we're best friends!"

Naeera just kept her smile, cupping her hand on Maria's cheek. She couldn't identify the smell, but it was sweet… almost too sweet. She sneezed. "Bless you. I think he didn't want to wake you up."

Maria was about to retort how unfair it was and how he could have told her earlier, but she reflected on it for a moment or two and ultimately gave a slow, resigned nod. It made sense, she would have done the same thing if she had to go somewhere and didn't want to bother Mr. Wolf. She had done it a lot of times before, when she didn't want to make him worry.

Naeera raised a brow and grinned. "See?"

Slowly but surely, Maria stopped crying. She was nowhere near that hellish camp, her new friends were all here, she had nothing to fear. Mr. Wolf just hadn't wanted to wake her up, that was all.

"Want us to stay here until he comes back?" Ray asked from the doorway. He wore a simple sky blue shirt and a pair of matching pants. She had no idea why he was keeping that far, but she saw that, despite the lack of armor, the gray thing on his arm was still there where she'd last seen it. He was holding a sword with the other.

"I'll stay with her."

Maria turned at the source of the voice, a little surprised. She found Phoenix sitting at her side in a gray tank top and blue panties, both covered in blood like the girl's hands, face and hair. Next to her, Eagle wore a red nightgown with trimming and intricate designs made of what could only be gold.

"You can go back to your rooms, I wasn't going to fall asleep any time soon anyway." Phoenix continued, a calm expression on her face. "I'll handle it."

"Are you sure?" Eagle asked in a hushed, worried tone.

"'Course I am." Phoenix nodded with a faint smile, then gave a look at the other two. "We've all had a long day, but I'm still in my world and I'm all in one piece."

Ray grimaced, shaking his head. "Phoenix, you-"

"It's happened before, worse than the last time." Phoenix sighed shakily. "And I've managed to get through it. Trust me, it's all right."

Ray and Eagle looked unconvinced, but they ultimately nodded. Naeera, however, smiled and kissed Maria's forehead. "Goodnight then."

"Goodnight." Maria echoed as she watched the three of them exit the room, one by one. First was Ray, closest to the door, followed by Eagle and finally Naeera, who closed it. She frowned. What was the point in Naeera's suit? It was useless, it left too much skin uncovered. It must have been cold to wear that.

Phoenix cleared her throat, and she turned to look at her. "So, we're waiting for Mr. Wolf, huh?"

"Yeah." Maria nodded, sitting more comfortably and giving a suspicious look at the girl's bloodstained form. "What happened?"

"A kid that asked too many questions." Phoenix deadpanned.

Maria's eyes widened.

"Nah, I'm joking." Phoenix waved her off with a chuckle and a shake of her head. "But… I don't want to talk about it. Okay?"

"Okay." Maria breathed in relief. She had sounded _so _serious…

Phoenix stared at the door for a second, then turned to her and winked. "You can call me Becky, by the way."

Maria blinked before nodding vigorously and beaming, making a mess of her hair. "I like it!"

"Why, thank you." Phoenix cooed and ruffled her hair, then sat more comefortably. "I've brought someone, if you don't mind."

"Oh, who?" Maria asked curiously. She tried to lean to one side to see what the girl was holding behind her head, but Phoenix was quicker. "Is it a boy or a girl?"

Phoenix smiled and lifted a large toy in front of her. It looked like a lizard that stood on two big, clawed feet, with its mouth open and full of teeth. Its eyes were red and it had spikes on its back and on its long tail. No matter how menacing it might have looked with its black scales, though, it had something that made it all less threatening: its arms were ridiculously tiny.

"He's a boy." Phoenix announced proudly. "His name's Spike. He's pretty rude, he's ugly and he doesn't like anyone, but he's real old and he knows _a lot_ of things."

"Really?" Maria asked, rapt by her description. He was nothing like Mr. Wolf, not at all. Quite the opposite, in fact. Yet, while one was kind and generous, the other probably made up for it in knowledge. Spike sounded very resourceful.

"Sometimes, when I'm exploring, I find things that I've never seen." Phoenix told her in a whisper, so that she had to lean closer to hear. "I don't want people to make fun of me when I sell those things, so I bring him up and ask him what I've just found. People think I'm smart and all, but it's Spike here that helps me."

Maria nodded, careful not to lose sight of Spike, when she blinked heavily and yawned loudly.

"Someone's sleepy, huh?" Phoenix asked, amused. She then carefully set Spike on the ground, lifted her up and put her on the bedroll. She brought up the blanket and kissed her forehead. "Come on, I'll stay up and tell you when Mr. Wolf comes."

Maria gave her one last, groggy nod before closing her eyes.

* * *

Keram-Rei closed his left eye only once Naeera pulled up her blanket, unaware of the fact he wasn't really sleeping. He considered it a little victory. Now, when he was going to fall asleep, he hoped in something about her and-

He grit his teeth. No, he had a score to settle. That could wait.

He let silently took in a deep breath and let it out. There weren't going to be any dreams tonight. His closed eyes let him focus better on the matter at hand. Most mages had very little experience in thoughts, dreams and matters that regarded the mind in itself – that was Sheogorath's area of expertise, and they had no desire to turn into gibbering fools. Very few managed to block out their dreams and look inside of them to sort out their thoughts, find lost memories or simply to meditate. Keram-Rei was one of them.

The reason for it, however, was entirely different.

Slowly but surely he emptied his mind, letting everything drift away into blackness. Maria's scream, the insanity of this new world, the memories of Skyrim and his family, his irritation at Eyes-Of-Silver's disappearance, unrealizable fantasies about Screaming-Eagle and Naeera… it all faded away. Nothing remained, only one thing remained to help him achieve his goal.

Rage.

Keram-Rei reopened his eyes.

He was sitting on a fairly comfortable wooden chair at the head of a long, empty table, also made of decorated wood. He glanced down, noticing with pleasure he was wearing his officer armor, the one he had been gifted on his promotion to Legate. A layer of fur and leather stood between his skin and the gold-etched plates of heavy steel. Most noticeable among the intricate decorations on his breastplate was the Imperial Dragon carved in the middle of his chest, proud heraldry of the Empire he fought for.

It was an encumbering, heavy, fragile, pathetic armor compared to anything else he'd ever worn, especially Deathbrand's Stalhrim armor, but he was attached to it nonetheless.

The ground beneath his steel-plated boots was a single sheet of polished white marble with veins of black crisscrossing it, the walls around and behind him sculpted from the same material. High arched windows of stained glass cast varicolored lights inside, just as wonderful as the grand white gold columns at each side of him and the bronze statues of ancient Tamrielic heroes between them. One might have mistaken this for one of the hundreds halls of the White-Gold Tower or one of the wondrous shrines that dotted Cyrodill.

Keram-Rei saw how the hall slowly turned less magnificent the closer it got to the center, until it reached a foot-wide space where the entire room was bare stone and the table the humblest of woods. Beyond that the windows vanished, the only light illuminating the room coming from black metal braziers burning deep red.

Blood dripped from the ceiling and from the corpses hung on black iron hooks, staining the ground and walls underneath. Maggots writhed on and within the charred, rotting wood of the gnarled, ruined table, sometimes wandering off into the stray arm or leg left on it. The stone cracked and turned from white marble to the darkest obsidian. He saw the visages of screaming souls trapped underneath, all focused on a precise point of the room.

He narrowed his eyes on it with a contempt he had hardly felt in his entire life.

Glowing red eyes like the smoldering remains of a fire glared back, set into an edged skull covered in black, barbed scales not unlike Alduin's. The figure's fingers were interlaced in front of its mouth, but Keram-Rei knew all too well he was either baring his fangs in a raging, silent snarl or leering one of his shark-like grins. Three rows of long, gray horns jutted from the middle of his forehead, vanishing from sight behind his head and going down to his spiked tail. He wore black robes that seemed to drain all the light and heat from the air around him, with scant plates of warped metal covering his torso, forearms and boots, latched to his body by vermillion roots more resilient than the hardest of leathers.

"Keram-Rei." The figure growled. The amusement in his raspy, gravelly voice was poorly concealed.

Keram-Rei snorted in barely-contained rage. "Treads-In-Gloom."

Treads-In-Gloom stared back at him for a few moments before laughing hoarsely and unlacing his fingers, only to set his hands behind his head and his boots on the table. "You've got to dream logic! We're some hundred feet apart, and yet we're talking and looking into our faces like we're close enough to fuck! Isn't that great?"

Keram-Rei roared and slammed his fist on the table, splintering its surface with the force of the blow. "Enough of your damn-"

"Enough of my damn _what_, Keram-Rei?" Treads-In-Gloom interrupted him with a purr. "Of my damn myself? You've known me for a pretty long time. What's wrong, hmm?" He tilted his head and pouted. "Your precious mage refused you?"

"You know what's wrong, necromancer!" Keram-Rei roared and bolted upright, propping his open hands on the table and baring his teeth. He was going to have none of his shit tonight. "You know what you've done!"

"Oh, that." Treads-In-Gloom sighed and dismissively flicked his wrist. "We're even resorting to titles. Want to know something, Keram-Rei?"

Keram-Rei glared at him, eyes set in stone. "No."

"I'm fucking angrier than you right now!" Treads-In-Gloom screamed. He cast his chair aside and buried his claws into the table, his red eyes now burning with the fury of a wildfire. "It's been seven years since I've last lived – seven fucking years! Do you know what it means, Keram-Rei? Do you know how it feels to be a tortured soul in Quagmire for six years and then a goddamn parasite in your head to this day, huh? Can you _imagine_ how shitty my non-life has been, you little son of a bitch!? NO! OF COURSE NOT!"

"IT'S STILL MY BODY WE'RE TALKING ABOUT!" Keram-Rei shouted at the top of his lungs. His rage flared at the necromancer's hideous excuses. "You took over me, drank blood, ate flesh, used necromancy and attempted to rape a man, you sick fuck!"

"Of course, let's conveniently forget the part where I _saved your fucking life_!" Treads-In-Gloom laughed hysterically, only to let out a beastial roar of wrath. "I warned you, took over, fixed everything and slaughtered Legion soldiers, why would you even care?!"

"It was _you_ who did it, not _me_, fucking psychopath!" Keram-Rei growled through gritted teeth, his nails burying themselves into the wood. "You made sure I couldn't get back in control until you were done, I know it, I _felt_ it! You caged me!"

"HOW DOES IT FEEL, MOTHERFUCKER?!" Treads-In-Gloom screeched with a maniacal smile. His claws buried deeper into the table. "DID YOU LIKE IT, KERAM-REI?! DOESN'T SOUND SO DIFFERENT FROM SOMETHING YOU DID!" His hateful features twisted and deformed in wrath. "AND YOU RANT?!"

Keram-Rei was about to scream at him with all his rage, when he shook his head and sat down. He was simmering, but Treads-In-Gloom could only win in a situation like this. "Scream all you want, you'll never leave my Pip-Boy either way."

For the briefest moment, he caught a glimpse of fear in Treads-In-Gloom's eyes. It was soon drowned by a savage growl. "You wouldn't."

"Oh, I can and I will." Keram-Rei shrugged with a smug grin. Funny how the tables had turned. He raised a finger before the necromancer began with his howls. "Either that, or you make yourself useful."

"Two words, Keram-Rei." Treads-In-Gloom snorted, his eyes narrowed to slits. "_Fuck. You._"

Keram-Rei rose and turned around. A golden door stood before him, ever-changing patterns appearing and vanishing on its surface like a bubbling cauldron of memories and images. "Suit yourself then, I'm going. We'll see if another night in there makes you change your-"

"Wait, that's fucking unfair!" Treads-In-Gloom ranted and gripped his arm. The hall vanished into a small stone room with a circular table in the middle and two creaky chairs. The door, however, remained unchanged. "Let's make it fair - you do that and I drag us both to Quagmire. Do you know how easy it would be for me to take your sword and cut your throat?"

"From your nifty little box?" Keram-Rei chuckled, looking into the necromancer's eyes with a brow raised in amusement. "I'd say pretty hard."

Treads-In-Gloom gave him a feral sneer. "I'd say a moment of distraction."

Keram-Rei rolled his eyes, shook his forearm free and folded his arms on his chest. "Distraction."

"Oh, I don't know, it might not be immediate…" Treads-In-Gloom said vaguely, stroking his chin with a pout. He smiled. "Maybe during an intimate moment with Screaming-Eagle?"

Keram-Rei froze on the spot.

"Who knows, maybe I could kill her as well." Treads-In-Gloom gloated, slowly circling around him. "Yes, imagine the look on her face when I'll tear her heart out with _your_ hands… only when you two are done fucking like animals, of course. Think you'll realize at least one of your fantasies with her?"

"Never talk about her again." Keram-Rei hissed, more out of fear than anger. He knew it all too well Treads-In-Gloom kept his promises.

"Or what?" Treads-In-Gloom snapped and glared into his eyes. They were both the same height. He shook his head. "We're at a stalemate here. You don't want to die with that tailless whore, and I don't want to stay in that cage."

Keram-Rei grit his teeth at how he called Screaming-Eagle, but let out a long breath. "Yeah."

"Listen here: how about a deal?" Treads-In-Gloom proposed. "It's the only thing I can think about."

Despite the despicable individual he was talking to, Keram-Rei raised a brow. "I'm listening."

"I will never take control of your body and do all the shit I want with it, but I'll stay in your mind and, between an orgy and another, I'll occasionally help you." Treads-In-Gloom began, his arms spread out in what he thought would've invited an embrace. The necromancer's mouth twitched for the briefest of instants, then twisted in a yellow grin. "Deal?"

"Say that out loud." Keram-Rei ordered, his eyes narrowed. It wasn't beyond Treads-In-Gloom to deceive him into accepting stupid deals and then trying to say 'I warned you'.

Treads-In-Gloom blinked innocently. He might have been convincing to someone who didn't know him. "Say _what_ out loud?"

Keram-Rei gripped at the black-scaled essence's throat. "The part you didn't want me to hear, you bastard."

"Since when did you become so smart?" Treads-In-Gloom barked, throwing his head back in laughter. "Alright, alright." He rolled his eyes once he was done. "I want a body."

Keram-Rei's eyes widened. He immediately released his throat, as if he were made of lava. "No!"

Treads-In-Gloom shook his head with a low chuckle, a sound like gravel being ground under the tramp of a marching army. "It's not a request, it's a statement. I will have one once again, rest assured." He jabbed a finger at Keram-Rei's chest. He flinched as though it had pierced his armor and touched his heart. "If you don't agree, I'll kill you all – kid included. If you agree, I'll keep to myself. You'll never hear from me again."

"Vaermina won't let you." Keram-Rei tried, too terrified to formulate an actual answer. The prospect of Treads-In-Gloom being free again was too grim. He and his sister had only killed him by sheer luck.

"Oh, of course she won't let me." Treads-In-Gloom confirmed with a confidence that sounded frightening. "But I think Molag Bal, Mehrunes Dagon, Mephala, Namira, Sanguine and Peyrite will have something to say in the matter, huh? They wouldn't want to lose one of their greatest champions. Sheogorath might want to help me, too. Can't imagine how much fun I had breaking people. Not to mention – no matter how much she hates undeath, that bitch Meridia still owes me."

Keram-Rei shook his head in desperation. "The others-"

"Don't give a shit what I do, maybe Azura and Hircine will rant a little, but the others just have no reason to get involved." Treads-In-Gloom said slowly, pleasure visible on his features with every syllable he pronounced. "There's no escape, I want a body and I'll get it. Do you have some more heroic alternatives for me? Let me guess, your Divines won't let me do it?" He spread his hands out and wiggled his fingers. "Surprise, surprise! They're useless. They can't do jackshit on Mundus, much less on Earth! Come on, you know I've won. Just say the magic word. You won't die, I won't be trapped, and we'll all be happy." He smiled. "Deal?"

Keram-Rei buried his face in his hands. Treads-In-Gloom wasn't one to bluff, he knew it. He twisted, he controlled, he manipulated, he deceived, he threatened, he killed, he enthralled – but he never bluffed. If anything, he had to be the most sincere person he'd ever met. He had no reason to lie, his other methods were persuasive enough that lies simply became useless. On one hand, if he refused and died with Screaming-Eagle, that would be it. Nobody else would have been killed or taken by his hands.

On the other, Keram-Rei was no saint. He was a hero, sure, but he was afraid of dying just as anyone else, noble intents or no. He wasn't even considered an adult, for Akatosh's sake. Who knew, maybe Treads-In-Gloom would simply feed and… research, whatever in Oblivion it was that he researched.

He had to choose now.

Despite being in a dream, Keram-Rei drew in a deep breath and nodded once. "Alright."

"Yes!" Treads-In-Gloom whooped, clasping his hands together with a broad, insane smile. "I knew you-"

"On one condition." Keram-Rei stopped him. He grabbed him by the collar and stared into his eyes, burning blue meeting with icy red. "You only kill people I consider irredeemable. As of now, the Legion. The list might grow."

"Of course, of course, it's still flesh and blood, after all." Treads-In-Gloom whispered madly. "When do we begin?"

"When I say so." Keram-Rei deadpanned as he let him go. "Not any time soon, that's for sure."

"Doesn't matter, I've waited for seven years, I can wait a little more!" Treads-In-Gloom giggled, licking his lips and his fangs. They were so long he couldn't even fully close his mouth. "I am sure you're going to need to unleash me soon. You don't know this world, anything here could kill you – and I'm going to make sure you're going to fulfill your part of the bargain, don't worry."

Keram-Rei closed his eyes and nodded absentmindedly.

Had it been the right choice?

* * *

Treads-In-Gloom ushered Keram-Rei through the Gate of Dreams or whatever it was called. He vanished with a defeated sigh inside the white fog that swirled and bubbled like whater beyond the doors.

When the golden barrier closed once again, Treads-In-Gloom began to chuckle. It slowly turned into a snicker, then into a roaring laughter coming up from the pit of his belly. He couldn't suppress the ecstasy – he was going to have a body again! To breathe, walk, maim, kill, burn, rape, massacre, unmake… oh, the memories that came to his mind were too much to bear.

And Keram-Rei had accepted, too!

Of course he didn't need that whelp's approval to do it, which also restricted him from doing whatever he wanted, but it had saved him a lot of time and effort that could lead to a potential fuck up of his plans. Fair enough, he got to slaughter whomever he wanted in Arizona. It wasn't like the idea didn't make him hard on its own.

Tonight, however, was no time for orgies. He wanted to get used to the feeling of new, fresh, _powerful_ minds asleep around him to explore. It was a rare occasion, for Keram-Rei rarely slept near anyone. He had limited time for this, sure, but he could get to know their strength and weaknesses, their prides and shames, their knowledge and ignorance.

Treads-In-Gloom closed his eyes and set his claws on his skull, drawing blood. The inner machinations of his mind became fluid like rancid oil, seeping everywhere and tainting all it touched. He had already gotten used to its unpleasantness when he was still an undead, and not a little soul relegated to an idiot's head. Luckily, it was one of the few skills Vaermina had let him keep.

When his eyes opened, the perspective had changed drastically.

There were five dots of light in an endless expanse of blackness. One, the closest to him, was Keram-Rei's unconscious; it gleamed a variety of colors, a show of all the different aspects of his personality and traits. Next to him was a green one, surrounded by a bubble that told him it was awake. Hadn't Naeera gone to sleep? He shook the question out of his head and kept on looking. A white one, no doubt indicating the human girl, signaled she was still awake.

Treads-In-Gloom shivered at the blinding pink _ball_ next to it. Fear was an emotion he had abandoned long ago, the strongest feeling of dread he could manifest was mild unease. There was little worth fearing for one who had lived as long as he had, most of them were either irrational or easily avoidable. The dark or woods were part of the former, the Daedric Princes the latter. Even then they were just for commoners, idiots still praying to their useless Gods to save them and protect them from 'evil', as if the world were black and white. It was all grey, sometimes darker, sometimes lighter. There was nothing to be afraid of.

Right now, however, that kid scared the shit out of him. He had kept his cool in front of Keram-Rei, but he didn't believe for a second what he'd said there. She could kill him with a glare, especially if as wild and untamed as she was. How had that mongrel found her? Now that he thought about it, it was easy to imagine. Any dog worth his nose would've found her, same for any skilled – and _experienced_, something Screaming-Eagle wasn't- mage. She meant trouble, and he wanted to stay out of trouble, especially the kind that could have him killed.

In this case, tear his soul apart _by accident_.

Treads-In-Gloom looked away and shielded his dead eyes from the flaring salmon hue of Maria's young mind and looked down, onto a rough-shaped yet potentially incredible sphere. It shone a cobalt blue, filled with inexperience and prone to learning. He grinned and snapped his fingers.

The blackness around him took form of a thick smoke that rolled and billowed around him. He coughed and blinked the irritant out of his eyes. Damn, he still had to work on that part.

He was surprised to find pink granite under his feet and white alabaster around him. It was a welcome change from the marble and gold of heroes and all that bullshit. Everything was plain white and salmon, except for the occasional leaf decoration carved and colored on the walls. The roof wasn't exaggerated, it reached just the right height to look noble. Now that he gave a better look at the floor, he noticed it was arranged in rhomboidal tiles, and not only pink: he also saw purple, yellow and black granite tiles forming patterns on the ground.

The girl had a nice taste for decorations.

Treads-In-Gloom knew a large gate was no doubt closed behind him, so he followed the brightly-illuminated corridor laid out in front of him. It wasn't too long, but certainly long enough to show the owner of the place had the money to afford an entrance like this. He couldn't care less for the frescoes and the rest of the expensive stuff, he just crossed the actual entrance and strode off to a curiously-placed marble balcony. The hall it projected into was vast and majestic, yet he had eyes only for the floor below, with its grand tables covered in potions, parchments, ingredients and items, with trapped beasts and enchanted pieces of armor and weapons lying here and there.

Still, everything had a hazy, undistinguished quality to it that told him it was nothing more than a dream, although the details suggested the glorious location partly originated from a memory. Oh, well, time to watch how it went. He'd invade other parts of her mind in a few minutes.

In all that, a lone gray-clad figure walked, taking notes on whatever it saw with a few waves of its red tail. He sneered and grit his fangs in order to avoid laughing out loud at her pathetic attempt of keeping it.

Screaming-Eagle set her little scroll and quill on a table and let out a sigh. She took the staff on her back and made for an armor that was clearly Kamal in nature, far more savage and warped than Stalhrim plate, yet just as fine. She drew a few runes unknown to him, and something sparked on its surface, orange, small…

Fire.

Treads-In-Gloom's eyes widened and he clutched his horns in his hands at her stupid experiment. "What the fuck are you doing?!"

Realizing what he had just done, he clasped his hands to his mouth and ducked behind the wall around the balcony. He prayed to that whore Vaermina Screaming-Eagle didn't find him; he was out of his cage and he had little to no powers in the mage's mind. If she wanted him dead, he was dead. Boom, no more getting his body back.

"Who's there?" Screaming-Eagle called, her tone suggesting just curiousity and unease – and _not_ actual unarm. Treads-In-Gloom slumped against the wall in relief. She thought it was part of her dream.

Treads-In-Gloom snapped his fingers as he heard worried steps climbing the stairs at his side. He found himself onto his twisted chair, Keram-Rei's Gate of Dreams some hundred feet ahead of him. His head lolled back and he let out a long breath he'd been holding. It had been close, too fucking close.

No more dream-jumping for a long time.


	12. Preparations

Screaming-Eagle let out a stifled yawn, blinking sleepily. What a strange dream she'd just had… well, dreams were just that: dreams. Light was beginning to filter in through the window in her room, the dust and sand caught in its rays blown away by a gentle breeze coming from the lake. She tried to lay onto her back and sit up.

A spike of pain jolted up from her stub of tail.

She bit back a scream and dropped to her side. Her breathe eased when the pain slowly subsided and faded in the background of the rest of her senses. She rolled on her belly and pushed herself up. Her wound was now pulsing, a hot throb she was beginning to hate, but she couldn't turn around to see it well enough. She supposed it had reddened overnight.

Screaming-Eagle got out of her silk nightgown, a present from… an aunt from Cyrodill, she guessed. Had she seen that female _once_ in her entire life? She shrugged, taking her dark gray, furred Archmage robes' top and sliding it on. It was all in the past, she wasn't part of her family anymore… if any of them managed to get off this burned-out husk, that was. Unlikely, but once Phoenix killed this Benny she would've had all the time in the world to research a solution to this problem. _Who knows, perhaps we may find a house to call our own here._ She thought as she pulled up her black pants.

Her eyes watered up the moment the fabric touched what remained of her tail.

She grit her teeth, belted the bottom of her robes on and turned to look at the stub that came out from where her tail was supposed to be – or she tried to, at least. She couldn't go on like this. She had no potion to help her with pain specifically, only with wounds. Asking Keram-Rei for more without making herself sound like an addict and him laughing was nigh-impossible. Magic, on the other hand… high-level spells required a concentration she didn't have at the moment, while lower-level Restoration… yes, that could prove itself useful in the most basic of healing spells.

Screaming-Eagle hovered a hand over her tail, closed her eyes and drew in a deep breath. Her fingers automatically traced the ideograms for 'Cold' and 'Relief', accompanied by 'Cleanse' in the case an infection had developed overnight.

She smiled in relief when the throb dulled away into a pleasant, although unfamiliar, warmth. She tentatively touched it with her index finger, ready to bite her other hand in pain, but she barely registered anything. She let out the breath she'd been holding, donned her satchels and leaned against the wall to put her black boots on. Everything slid perfectly in place. Once she was sure she hadn't left anything in the room, she took her staff and used it to aid herself to walk.

She was impressed at how fast she was recovering. It had taken a night's rest to make her perfectly capable of standing on her own. She was slow to walk, sure, and she needed to make a cane out of her staff… but it was amazing. She had lost her _tail_, it was vital in balancing her steps, and yet she could already stand. Incredible, the sort of medicine these humans had created. Undesirable side-effects, sure, but with this kind of benefits she could turn a blind eye on them.

It was then she noticed the faint snoring to her right and turned. She frowned.

Why was Phoenix sleeping here?

Screaming-Eagle stared for a few more seconds at the form of the girl on the bedroll in perplexity. There was no mistaking her for anyone else: the bloodstained hair and clothes, the smell, the frame, the sprawled position she had assumed and how she had completely discarded her blankets. After a few seconds, she shrugged and decided to poke at her foot with her staff. The girl stirred and turned the other side.

She sighed. With a shake of her head, she knelt next to her and shook her shoulder.

"Whussit Maria?" Phoenix mumbled before her eyes came into focus. "Wa-wait… _Eagle_? What are you doing here?"

"I could ask you the same thing, Rebecca." Screaming-Eagle said with a raised brow. "What happened?"

"Ah, damn if I know…" Phoenix groaned, rubbing her eyes and taking her black hair out of her sight. She blinked twice before she sat up cross-legged. "Last thing I remember was Maria sleeping and… I guess I fell asleep after that."

Screaming-Eagle frowned in suspicion, stroking at her chin. What might have happened for the girl to find herself here, still asleep, when…

She chuckled. Of course.

"What?" Phoenix asked and tilted her head, her filthy hair falling to the side.

"Oh, he's back." Screaming-Eagle said nonchalantly.

Phoenix's jaw dropped as her eyes widened. "You've gotta be kidding me."

"My knowledge on werewolves is less than stellar, but given his little escape last night… I believe it is entirely possible." Screaming-Eagle explained with a flick of her wrist. She hid a wry smile at the girl's bewilderment. "Why? Werewolves are capable of so much more. A pack may slaughter two giants and a small herd of mammoths. I have seen them do it."

Phoenix nodded slowly. Then, she abruptly slumped on her bedroll and yawned annoyedly, her hands pressed against her eyes. "Why did you have to wake me up, Eagle?"

"The sun is shining, I find it unwise to sleep any further." Screaming-Eagle dutifully responded. She giggled. "Besides, I wanted to know why in Oblivion you were here. So, are you going to get up or no?"

"Five minutes." Phoenix groaned, further covering her face with her blanket. "Give me five minutes."

"I will be counting." Screaming-Eagle scoffed as she helped herself to her feet with her staff.

She heard the girl half-mutter, half-laugh something behind her, but she ignored her and went for the door. One hand on her impromptu cane, she turned the rusty knob and pulled the door open. It creaked on its hinges, or what little remained of them, and she took a few steps into the now-lit hallway. To her left was the exit, perfectly closed. Before her was Maria and, if her suspicions were right, Eyes-Of-Silver's room. To her right there had to be Naeera and Keram-Rei's accomodation. A pang of jealousy surprised her, but she was quick to suppress it. She focused on the rotten wood of the doors, walls and floors, on the dust and sand that had gathered in centuries of abandoment, on the…

On the door that creaked to her right.

A yawn that could only be classified as sensual (if yawns could even _be_ sensual she wasn't sure) told her it was Naeera who had exited the room. The gray female was clad in her dark, light armor and not in that horrible and dissolute… _suit_, if there was enough fabric to classify it as more than undergarments. Her sleepy steps didn't make so much as a sound on the floorboards, as if the floor were made of cotton. She stretched a little too much for her liking before turning her head, closing the door behind her and waving. "'Morning. Slept well?"

Screaming-Eagle managed not to snort and nodded curtly. Despite the cheerful manners and friendliness, she couldn't bring herself to like the female. She knew she meant well, but she didn't appreciate it. She also didn't appreciate the sheer promiscuousness the female seemed to radiate – less than all the fact she had slept in the same room as Keram-Rei. "Yes."

Naeera tilted her head with an obliviousness that bordered on ridiculous. "Rough night?"

"Rough awakening." Screaming-Eagle corrected her with a forced smile. Now that she thought about it, there was no reason for her to keep talking to Naeera. For all her good intentions, she couldn't bring herself to indulge in a conversation with someone she didn't like. It was pure hypocrisy.

"Oh, I don't sleep most of the times, I just rest." Naeera said with a shrug and leaned against the wall, giving her a strong feeling this was going to turn into a discussion she wanted to avoid. "What about the girl, Phoenix?"

"She will wake in five minutes." Screaming-Eagle told her, doing her best not to make her annoyance show. What was taking Phoenix so much to get up? "If she doesn't, I will personally drag her outside."

Naeera snickered heartily, scratching at her feathers, when she snapped her fingers and arched her brows. "You know, I have an idea."

Whenever she wasn't the one suggesting them, Screaming-Eagle tended to be diffident of others' ideas - much less one coming from a distasteful figure such as Naeera. They weren't well thought-out, they usually omitted the eventuality their course of action went wrong, they had no backup plans and they were, among other things, stupid. Since 'get lost' wouldn't have been polite nor in line with her new style, she resignedly decided to shrug. "What sort of idea?"

The sound of shuffling footsteps interrupted Naeera. Screaming-Eagle turned in time to see Phoenix yawn loudly and try to untangle her hair, her stained brown leather armor covering her thin frame and her Pip-Boy set on her forearm, along with a pistol on her hip and a couple of grenades inside her belt pockets. She could've kissed the girl for the interruption. "I'm up, less than five minutes."

"Oh, good, this way I don't have to wait to tell you, too!" Naeera exclaimed, clasping her hands together.

Phoenix narrowed her eyes and jerked a thumb towards the female. "What's she talking about?"

"I was thinking: we've been through the desert and we're near a lake." Naeera began with an enthusiasm Screaming-Eagle certainly didn't share. "The males are either sleeping or aren't here, so there's no risk of any of them sneaking up on us. Why don't we have a bath together?"

Screaming-Eagle all but froze at the sentence.

"I'm cool with that." Phoenix said with a disarming calm. She gestured at herself to prove her point. "I needed one anyway."

"A… a bath?" Screaming-Eagle repeated, attempting not to panic.

Naeera shrugged. "Yeah, a bath."

"T-together?" Screaming-Eagle managed before gulping hard. She was fine with talking, she was fine with walking, she was fine with all sorts of activities to get to know someone else better – even Naeera. Something that involved her not wearing anything in front of two people, whomever they may be, wasn't one of those activities. "I… I…"

"Come on!" Naeera encouraged her, patting her shoulder and smiling broadly. "It's going to be fun!"

"I-I… I have already cleaned up." Screaming-Eagle desperately tried, torn between panic at the situation and anger at Naeera's unwanted expansion. "With magic. Yesterday, as a matter of fact."

"Wait, that's the reason for the sea essence, is it?" Naeera asked, a brow raised in fascination.

Screaming-Eagle avoided sighing in relief and limited her reaction to a nod. "Exactly. As you can see, there is no-"

"No offence, you now smell like a swamp." Naeera dismissed her with a flick of her wrist, before grabbing her own and happily dragging her outside.

No matter how short and lithe she looked like, the gray female was strong; stronger than she would have given her credit for. The grip was tight, but it didn't hurt. Dazed by the surprise and outrage at the gesture first, and by the rising sun slapping her face as they pulled around the corner of the building then, Screaming-Eagle had no choice other than to come along. She wasn't at full strength, not by a long shot, and she could do little to oppose Naeera's overly friendly (and overly unnecessary) manners.

This, however, was a golden opportunity to think about what to do and what to say. She had rarely talked to anyone up to this day and she didn't have the faintest idea what to do in a situation like this. The only person to have ever seen her naked was her nanny. The last time, however, she had been no older than ten and the reason had been the same: a bath. Unlike then, however, she was a good thirteen years older and in company of two females she had met less than twelve hours before. Well, yes, she could feel the beginning of a friendship between her and Phoenix, but Naeera…

With her barely noticing, Naeera left her wrist. Screaming-Eagle shook her head and took in the new surroundings she hadn't even noticed.

The office building was all but hidden by an aground platform and a few boats she identified as 'yachts', their state of abandonment rendering them nearly unrecognizable from the pictures of luxury boats taken from one of the Overseer's books. She was a few feet from the lake, littered by boat wreckages and floating pieces of harbor. It looked like a graveyard, the lined piles of wood and rust that had once been boats now looking like the bloodied, yellowed ancient bones of vanquished giants. The reek of still water and dank wood filled her nostrils, and she couldn't help but grimace at the unpleasantness of the smell and at the greenish hue of the water. She noticed the air was beginning to grow warmer, a hot breeze blowing from the west.

She had barely registered where she was when she noticed with discomfort Naeera had already slipped out of her light armor. She averted her eyes, just to notice Phoenix was doing just the same, and ultimately looked at her feet. Embarassment didn't even come close to what she was feeling. What was she supposed to do now?

"Huh, that's weird." She heard Phoenix say, perplexed. "I thought…"

"We're reptiles, what did you expect?" Naeera replied with audible amusement. "We don't lactate."

Needless to say, Screaming-Eagle was starting to get _extremely_ uncomfortable. She shifted the weight on her feet a little, then closed her eyes. "Can I… bathe on my own?"

"Come on, don't be such a baby!" Naeera laughed and set a hand on her shoulder. She would've wanted to bite it off, but resisted the impulse. "We're just having a bath. What's wrong with that?"

Screaming-Eagle wanted to snap back something at her, she really did, but she failed to find anything to say. She just grimaced harder and shut her eyes closed even tighter. There wasn't anything she could come up with, she'd never been a great liar in the first place. "I-"

"You're embarassed, I got it." Naeera said sympathetically, probably with a smile. Divines, didn't she _hate it_ when people tried to make her 'come out of her shell' – as if she'd ever asked them to in the first place. "Listen, I'm not trying to force you, but… we're all friends here, there's nothing wrong with having a bath with your friends, is there?"

Screaming-Eagle laughed sarcastically. "Naeera, I hardly even _know_ you."

"Hey, but you know me better, and I know you!" Phoenix encouraged her. Her voice sounded more distant than Naeera's, almost as if she were already in the water. "Besides, from what I've heard, lakelurks only come out during the day or when their caves are disturbed. It's still morning, we have plenty of time for a bath. You don't want to find out what lakelurks are. Come on, Eagle – at least help me clean up decently!"

Screaming-Eagle let out a shaky sigh and, after a moment of indecision, she gave a nod. She opened her eyes and immediately raised her head to look no lower than Naeera's feathers. She was a female, she didn't need someone else to remind her what a female looked like. Naeera – at last – let go of her shoulder and strolled into the water where Phoenix was waiting, already thighs-deep in it. The movement of Naeera's hips spoke volumes of her.

She shuddered and dismissed the disgusting thoughts concerning the other female's backside with a firm shake of her head. She waited for a few seconds in indecision before taking off the top of her robes, followed shortly after by her pants. She set them on the nearest, least rotten wreck and drew in a deep breath. Her undergarments almost fell on their own accord, and she simply put them on top of her robes. A minuscule part of her mind relished at the thought of being naked, while the great majority of the rest of her common sense beat it into submission and just told her to get this over with. The sooner she got into the water now, the sooner she would've gotten out later.

With the aid of her trusted staff, she hobbled into the lake. She was unused to conventional baths; it had been years since she had learned of that little cleaning Alteration spell. However, like all Argonians, she couldn't suppress a smile at the contact of her scales with water. Her gills bristled in pleasure. It was a welcome change from the cold lakes and rivers of Skyrim where she used to fall into either in distraction or to use them as a means of escape. The fresh water on her ankles slowly rose the further she got in, up over her hips – whereas Naeera and Phoenix had the water reach their lower ribs.

"You know, you could let go of that." Naeera observed with a raised brow and an impish smirk, glancing at her staff. "Or you could hand it over, you know."

She and Phoenix giggled, while Screaming-Eagle just shook her head at the nonsense and planted it in the sand. She failed to see the ilarity in all that. "I doubt you would know how to use it."

Naeera laughed openly at her statement, making her grit her teeth. "Oh, I think it's the other way around, Screaming-Eagle."

Screaming-Eagle clenched her fists and let out a low growl, staring right into the gray female's eyes. "Do you think yourself better than an Archmage?"

"No, of course not, I…" Naeera began, puzzled, before she frowned and looked at her with suspicion. "Wait, do you even know what I'm talking about?"

"Naeera, don't push it." Phoenix intervened, her eyes switching between the two. "Eagle, don't pay her any mind. We came here to take a bath, remember? Then let's fucking bathe. No arguments, no fights, _nothing_ except bathing."

"Yeah, fine, fine." Naeera said, raising her arms in surrender. She then cupped her hands, took some water and poured it over her feathers with abundant movements that put her breasts in prominence. Why did she even _possess_ breasts? She was a reptile, for Akatosh's sake. "Nothing, I just… nevermind."

Screaming-Eagle snorted and nodded once, then replicated the gray female's moves. Only, she put but a fraction of the sensuality the other seemed to use in each and every task, from walking to yawning. It didn't make any sense, who did she have to impress while she scrubbed her feathers and her neck? Why such vulgar gestures would be considered impressive she didn't know, but she decided not to think about it. Pointless, just pointless. They were here to wash themselves. There was no need to think about making enemies.

"So, Screaming-Eagle, where are you from?" Naeera asked, probably either oblivious or uncaring of her not-so-veiled hostility.

"Gideon." Screaming-Eagle simply replied. Why did all discussions end up with having someone ask her questions? Wouldn't it be simpler if they stuck to the matter at hand?

"Oh, you're from Black Marsh!" Naeera exclaimed and smiled. "I'm from Riften, born and raised."

Screaming-Eagle narrowed her eyes on her. She had yet to hear of a honest Argonian born in Riften. Well, of _anyone_ honest, truth be told. That city was a snake pit.

"Yeah, I get that look a lot." Naeera chuckled. This confirmed she just didn't care. "People always think I'm either a thief or a whore. That's probably what you're thinking, too, right? 'Oh, look, she's from _Riften_, eww'."

Screaming-Eagle bit her lip in a sting of guilt. Had she even thought for a second what Naeera might have lived? She had to be one of the hundreds of people who had judged her without the faintest idea of what she had been through. "Gods, I… I didn't mean to…"

"Nah, it's fine." Naeera shrugged as she washed her belly. Then, she grinned. "I'm actually both."

Screaming-Eagle's arms fell along her sides, her eyes wide and her jaw slack.

"Say what now?" Phoenix managed after a few moments. She was still absentmindedly scrubbing at her neck.

"I was the only Dragon-Footed Argonian in the whole city - I was considered a pretty exotic sight." Naeera half-spoke, half-giggled. "Men of all races always wanted to give me a ride, and I won't deny I've had my fair share of ladies, too. You couldn't possibly imagine the money I made… best of all?" She grinned. "I had a lot of fun doing it. The thief thing? Well, I'm still a thief. That armor isn't just for show, you know."

"Don't tell me you're part of some secret thief organization." Phoenix murmured with a quickly-broadening grin.

"Oh, but I _am_ telling you!" Naeera laughed, followed suit by Phoenix. "I'm actually their leader. We're the Thieves Guild. We live in the underground, we steal from the rich and both try to help the poor and line our pockets… there was one time, in a big city called Solitude, when-"

"Enough!" Screaming-Eagle snapped with despise. She glowered and bared her teeth at the gray female, who looked back at her in puzzlement. "I cannot believe I have followed to such an ignoble, disgusting, lascivious, impertinent…"

Naeera rolled her eyes with a huff. "Let me guess: harlot."

"Harlot!" Screaming-Eagle repeated, furious beyond words at Naeera's lifestyle and at the pride she took in it. She grabbed her staff and snorted contemptuously. "I will not tolerate the humiliation of your presence any longer." She turned to the astonished girl and nodded politely. "Goodbye, Phoenix."

She turned on her heel (a bit more difficult with her legs underwater) and stormed off to the shore, her staff slamming into the water with each step she took. There was no way in Oblivion she was going to keep talking to someone so mischievous and depraved. The very thought of selling herself, giving away her own body for money sent shivers down Screaming-Eagle's spine. What a despicable female. To think she wanted to be her _friend_! Friends with a prostitute? _Her?_ Impossible.

Just as she got out of the water, she heard Naeera's snorting laughter. "Why are you so angry? You don't even know what a courtesan like me does!"

"Nor do I want to know!" Screaming-Eagle shouted without even turning back, finally glad of her ignorance in the matter.

She ignored any further attempt to persuade her and took her staff in both hands, slashing the symbol for 'Wind' through the air. A sudden gust of air hit her and took all the water from her scales before fading. She marched towards her robes and cast 'Purification', then proceded to do so on Phoenix's. It wasn't the girl she didn't tolerate, it was the harlot talking and bathing with her that got on her nerves. Extremely and unpleasantly pesky people she could at least try to accept, but not Naeera. A criminal, a prostitute, a thief – from Riften, of all places!

Screaming-Eagle huffed as she got into her undergarments, then her pants and boots. She nearly ripped her upper robes with her horns in outrage before she shook her head and drew in a long breath. She counted to ten, then exhaled. She couldn't let disgust and anger take hold of her, she needed to be focused. Emotions deviated her from her routine. She couldn't afford to simply ignore the existence of all the other people: Keram-Rei, Phoenix, Maria, Eyes-Of-Silver, the rest of humanity on this accursed, ruined, radioactive world… there were so many people she actually liked around her, she didn't need one to ruin her day. She wouldn't have been accepted as a custodian at Winterhold, had she let this sort of things happen. No, she was rational mind – she needed to stay that way.

Her breaths were long and calm, regular and ordered. She walked back to the office building, aided by her staff. She ignored the air's rising heat and the smell of roasted meat carried by the breeze. There was only the path before her, nothing else. No boats, no people, no water, no harlots, nothing. Just her and the walk.

* * *

Her feet and staff thumped rhythmically on the ground, her heartbeat was slowing down to more manageable speeds, and her mood was slowly reverting back to complete and utter calm. She could just ignore Naeera, it wasn't a problem. The problem was the influence a female like her could have on Phoenix. Who knew how twisted her view of life was or how she could have warped that of the poor girl. Maybe-

"Ah, good morning, Screaming-Eagle!" A cheerful voice like rolling thunder called slightly to her left. She raised her eyes to see Eyes-Of-Silver looking at her, smiling and slinging his pristine axes onto his back, clad in his massive Dragonbone armor – even his clawed feet. The office building couldn't have been farther than a hundred feet in front of her.

"Yes, good morning…" Screaming-Eagle grunted with a shake of her head.

"Most definitely _not_ a good morning." Eyes-Of-Silver corrected himself, a perplexed expression falling on his face. "May I ask what troubles you?"

"Your friend is a slut, that's what!" Screaming-Eagle suddenly exploded, and crashed the bottom of her staff into a nearby rock. It cracked under the blow. "I do not want her to come close to me, and yet she wants to be my _friend_!"

Eyes-Of-Silver creased a brow in surprise. "As I understand this… the fact Naeera was a prostitute makes it difficult for you to get close to her in any way, thus you refuse to accept any attempt of communication and socialization on her part. Why?"

"Because she was a harlot!" Screaming-Eagle underlined, her staff indignantly pointed towards the lake. "She sold her body for _gold_, it's unacceptable!"

"That is hardly reason at all for your behaviour, though." Eyes-Of-Silver pointed out with a casual shrug. "We are on Nirn no more, our past lives matter little – as you, of all people, are bound to know. We must stay together to survive and we cannot afford any form of hostility… and _you_ decide to antagonize a member of our group because her lifestyle or choices do not coincide with yours?"

Screaming-Eagle nodded, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. "Yes."

"Then may I ask why are you talking to me?" Eyes-Of-Silver inquired with a bright smile. "I am a high-ranking member of the Companions of Whiterun, I am little more than a mercenary – how am I any different from Naeera? I have fought and killed for money, mostly, and because I want to feel the rush of battle, whereas her area of expertise was pleasure. To add to that, I am surely a beast in your eyes, a bestial servant of a bestial Daedra with only bloodlust and mating on his mind, yes?" He spread his arms and shrugged. "Well, have I not proved you wrong? Do you see me attempting to seduce you or outright assail you, Screaming-Eagle?"

His point of view effectively made sense. He was no beast, no; despite his size, scars and equipment, he was far more polite and elegant than Keram-Rei could have ever hoped of becoming, that was sure. Commendable manners and an accent that made hers sound like a farmer's in comparison were just two of the things that definitely classified him as more rational than savage… on the contrary, there were common people wilder than the animals they owned.

"This changes nothing." Screaming-Eagle finally growled, stubborn, shooing the thoughts away with a shake of her head. "One thing is selling your services, one thing is selling _yourself_. You fought for a purpose and, no matter how disreputable, you _helped_ people. Naeera?" She snorted. "Naeera has sold her dignity, what made her a female in the first place. I will not tolerate her presence anywhere near me."

"I know when someone may change their mind… yours is set in stone." Eyes-Of-Silver murmured sadly as he rubbed his chin. "But know this: I find her to be cheerful, lovely and vital. In my opinion, her only goal was having another friend. Your words, whatever they may have been, are bound to have hurt her in some way."

"I don't need a friend like her." Screaming-Eagle scoffed, grimacing as she walked past him and casting him one last glance. "I respect you, Eyes-Of-Silver, but I cannot lower myself to respecting a loose female like her."

His only response was a shake of his head. She kept her pace and saw the office building in all its decadence, the flaked paint covering little of its walls. Not far, not at all.

She saw Keram-Rei sit cross-legged by the entrance, clad in his Stalhrim armor and tending to a fire upon which was a large chrome grill. She knew he was cooking meat, but now that the whirlwind of indignation and disgust had faded she noticed something was wrong. She'd never been an expert on cooking meals - perhaps on eating them - but she knew whatever he was cooking had an odd quality to it. For one, it smelled too fresh… and the implications alone were enough for her to gag.

Keram-Rei's head snapped around at the sound, only for his tense features to soften with a sigh. "Hey, good morning. Where have you been?"

"Bathing." Screaming-Eagle said apathetically. She knew him better than anyone else - she knew better than to snap at him. Of course, half a day of silence and an exchange of amused looks from him and glares from her wasn't much in the way of 'knowing better', but it was something.

He flinched imperceptibly, then shook his head. "Alright. What about Phoenix and Naeera?"

"They were bathing with me." Screaming-Eagle continued with a shrug. "I had an altercation with Naeera, thus I left."

Keram-Rei now winced visibly. She saw the muscles on his jaw clench and heard him hiss a curse before he inhaled deeply and turned to meet her eyes. "What happened?"

Screaming-Eagle grit her teeth and pulled her mouth in a grimace. "Naeera used to be a prostitute."

"Holy shit, you serious?" Keram-Rei blurted out. She glowered at him, making him lower his head. "Well, not the most honorable of professions, and I in no way approve her choice, but… don't you think it's just a bit dumb? You know, you're the first who shouldn't care about her past life. I mean, you're forbidden from remembering your own, like me, like Eyes-Of-Silver, and probably like her, too. We're exiled, we're renegades."

"Pardon me?" Screaming-Eagle mumbled, her interest caught by his words. "What do you mean when you say 'we'?"

"It's a really complicated story and these steaks are almost ready." Keram-Rei told her, getting to his feet, kneeling in front of the crackling fire and taking a small pile of white plates. "Long story short, I burned down a Hist tree."

Screaming-Eagle grunted in acknowledgement. Her eyes fell upon her black staff, and she realized with surprise she didn't really care about what she'd done to get it. Not exactly the same as _incinerating_ one, granted, but it was still taboo.

But then again, _why_ in Oblivion would she even care? She was nobody now, she was as good as a Dunmer slaver in the eyes of her people. The very same common people she hadn't cared about for all these years, the family she hated, the miserable slaves and outlaws all over Cyrodill. Who knew about Argonian traditions here, in the Mojave?

She suppressed a smile.

Nobody.

"Breakfast's ready." Keram-Rei informed her with a nod of his head, cutting her thoughts short. "I don't doubt Eyes-Of-Silver noticed, last time I checked he wasn't far from the piers, so it won't take him and the other two long to come back. Do you mind waking up Maria?"

"Of course." Screaming-Eagle spoke softly.

She walked through the open entrance and went for the first door on the left. She opened it delicately, careful not to make any loud noises, but it creaked its disagreement with her.

A mop of red hair jolted up at the sound. "Mr. Wolf?"

"No, it's me, Eagle." Screaming-Eagle told her as she got closer, earning a disappointed 'oh' from the little girl. "But he'll be back from the lake in moments."

Maria's blue eyes shone at the news. "Really?"

"Yes, I have just talked to him." Screaming-Eagle chuckled, getting the hair out from the child's view. "Come on, breakfast is ready."

Maria hopped to her feet, already wearing her little green dress and shoes, and gingerly followed her out of the cramped office and outside, next to a Keram-Rei busy with white plates and… not only meat, it appeared. Three plates had unusual steaks on them along with knives and forks, while one contained scrambled eggs and a fork and the last had a few homemade cookies on it, accompanied by a glass of milk.

Screaming-Eagle planted her staff in the ground like a flag, took one of the steaks and sat on the ground to the left of Keram-Rei, while he put the fire out with a freezing spell. The wood crystallized and the flames coughed once before dying away. Keram-Rei gave the child the cookies and milk, to which she frowned with suspicion.

"What are these?" Maria asked, visibly confused as the awe at the ice spell vanished.

"Something you need if you want to grow up big like Mr. Wolf." Keram-Rei explained as he sat back in his original position.

Maria devoured the cookies with a speed she couldn't imagine possible for a child. Crumbs were stuck all around her mouth and on her dress, but it didn't seem to matter to her as she picked her glass up and downed the milk in one go.

Screaming-Eagle heard two sets of footsteps approach, one light and the other much, much heavier, although she suspected the owner could be unheard if he wanted to. She barely recognized the presence of a third one, to which her blood began to boil. She suppressed the anger and focused on the brown steak.

It was absurdly lean, there wasn't a trace of fat on it. Yet again, she knew the smell wasn't quite right, but she didn't know _why_. Although cutting it with her knife was hard, she finally managed to carve a piece. She took a tentative bite and, despite the gummy consistence (even for her teeth), she discovered the taste wasn't horrifying. It was far from delicious, but Keram-Rei had managed to make it edible. That made the worst part was cutting it.

"MR. WOLF!" Maria shrieked, startling her. The little girl ran off towards Eyes-Of-Silver, jumping and holding on to his right leg.

Eyes-Of-Silver laughed heartily and plucked her up, enveloping her in his enormous arms like a father did with his child. With how close they were, he may as well _be_ her father, as far as she was concerned.

Phoenix let out a chuckle and walked up towards the extinguished fire, frowning at the ice. "What the… what happened?"

"I put it out." Keram-Rei explained, handing her the scrambled eggs and the fork. The girl took them in a heartbeat and began wolfing her breakfast down.

Naeera took one of the steaks the same time as Keram-Rei and went next to Phoenix, throwing a tentative glance in Screaming-Eagle's direction. Her glower was more than enough to make her turn away. _No, focus, Screaming-Eagle, _focus_._ She thought. After chewing the last bite of meat, she looked at Eyes-Of-Silver and made a mental count of the plates.

"Did you forget about Eyes-Of-Silver?" Screaming-Eagle asked Keram-Rei, who was eating his breakfast in a sandwich.

"Nope." Keram-Rei spluttered, apparently uncaring of talking with his mouth full. "Werewolves eat rare meat, even when in their normal form." He jerked a thumb towards the male in question, who was busy exchanging very exciting tales, by the look on Maria's face. "He ate the rest. You know, what I didn't cook: offal, skin, the roughest meat, the head… picked the bones clean."

"Yes, I… I understand." She replied weakly. She was putting enough effort in trying not to throw up what she'd just put in her stomach. That, though, raised another question. "What is it that you cooked, though?"

"Some sort of reptile Eyes-Of-Silver brought me this morning… pretty big thing." He answered with a shrug as he gulped down the last of his sandwich. "I have no idea what it was, but he said it was good to eat."

"Hey, how big was it?" Phoenix chimed in, interrupting her conversation with Naeera.

Keram-Rei stroked at his chin and pensively looked at the sky, before he snapped his fingers. "About Maria's size."

Screaming-Eagle's eyes widened. What sort of reptile _was_ it?

"Oh, nice choice." Phoenix remarked with a grin. "Geckos are a bit gummy, but they're very nutritious and they're spread all over the Mojave."

Screaming-Eagle blinked.

She had just eaten a… giant mutated _gecko_ steak?

"Don't worry!" Phoenix exclaimed at the sight of her… well, everyone's face. "They aren't radioactive, nor poisonous. They're just gummy."

"Huh." Keram-Rei managed to grunt, looking at his plate with distaste. "I think I'll… bring you along if food's running low."

"Anytime." Phoenix chuckled, then she gave her plate to Keram-Rei and cleared her throat. "Everyone, eyes on me."

Screaming-Eagle nudged at Keram-Rei's side and stood up with him. Eyes-Of-Silver and Maria had gotten closer, the werewolf still holding the child like an infant, while Naeera took a step back.

"Great, thank you very much." Phoenix said with a little bow of her head. "Now, Keram-Rei and Screaming-Eagle know me a little, but Naeera, Maria and… Silver-Eyes?"

"Eyes-Of-Silver." The large male corrected her without the slightest hint of annoyance.

Phoenix nodded briefly and gave him a thumbs-up. "Alright, as I was saying: you have no reason to trust me. I'm just one of the millions of strangers on this world to you, and-"

"Pardon me, but I have already intended the nobility of Keram-Rei and Screaming-Eagle's mission." Eyes-Of-Silver interrupted her, raising his metal hand while keeping Maria with the other. "I need no further encouragement, only a question: do you intend on destroying the Legion by whatever means necessary?"

"I'd bomb them to hell and beyond if I had an army, sure." Phoenix growled, anger flaring inside of her at the mention of the Legion. Screaming-Eagle winced at the thought of what she had done last night.

"Then I shall stand by your side until death." Eyes-Of-Silver nodded solemnly, a wolflike grin twisting his scarred features.

"I'll follow Mr. Wolf and all of you, too!" Maria piped up, determined.

"What little I've heard of the Legion is enough for me." Naeera announced and patted Phoenix's shoulder. "Plus, I can kill people in lots of ways. I'm in."

For once, Screaming-Eagle found herself agreeing with her.

"Just like that?" Phoenix muttered, surprised. She then shook her head. "Anyway, we're headed for New Vegas, the largest city in the Mojave. There we'll find Benny, the guy who tried to kill me – I want to return him the favor. The place where he's holed up will be filled with guards, but we'll think of a good plan before getting into the Strip, don't worry. What we'll be doing now is finding good armor and weapons for me and… well, you've got good armor. I think I'll try to teach you how to shoot. You're going to need it."

"We are going to need something to hide ourselves." Screaming-Eagle informed her with a pained expression. "I will not be able to use our disguises for a week, at least."

"Don't you have something to use like robes in your magic pockets?" Phoenix asked, hopeful. "Everyone's going to either try to kill you or run away screaming. I've heard of an intelligent Deathclaw that used to wear a robe a long time ago – you could do the same thing."

The Argonians exchanged an uncertain look.

"I have no spare robes." Screaming-Eagle sighed with a shake of her head.

"No luck." Naeera added.

"I am afraid I have no similar item on me." Eyes-Of-Silver explained.

In the meantime, Keram-Rei got four large squares of cloth out from his satchel and set them on the ground before him. They looked light enough not to be a problem in the desert, and all of them were dyed a single color. They were blue, green, red and plain brown.

"I believe the colours to be a little too… convenient." Eyes-Of-Silver hummed as he set Maria on the ground, a brow raised as he took the folded would-be robe in his hands. "Did you purchase these garments based on the Warrior, Mage and Thief nebulas? Why the brown, then?"

"You're going too deep, I can't even remember when or why I bought them." Keram-Rei stopped him, frowning. "I've got to agree, the colors' coincidence is weird, but it's nothing more than that. Are they good?"

"Oh, I certainly do like the idea of wearing the heraldry of my Guardian Stone openly, it only felt curious to me." Eyes-Of-Silver snickered and unfolded the robe, throwing it on his form. It left little of his clawed feet to be seen, and otherwise covered the hands and head entirely. "Red, symbol for force and blood."

"Blue, pure like the Magicka that flows in all of us, like the lightning cast to smite my foes." Screaming-Eagle muttered as she wore hers. It should have felt like a blanket in the heat of the desert, but in reality the fabric was as light as it looked. She liked aura of mystery it gave her, even more so than her own robes.

"You know, I never understood why we thieves got green." Naeera wondered aloud, half-perplexed, half-disappointed. She couldn't help but sigh in relief at the thought of not having to cope with the female showing off her body. "Black works a lot better, but I guess green just… stuck. Some Illusion spells are green, though."

"It doesn't matter." Keram-Rei barked, already wearing his brown robe. The idea he gave Screaming-Eagle was one of absolute indifference, of someone nobody would talk to and nobody would be interested in - same thing for the others, despite their brightly-colored robes. It was perfect for avoiding trouble. "We can't get these off if, like Phoenix said, we don't want to be shot or we don't want to scare people. If someone's brave enough to ask, we are horribly mutated or diseased. If someone's stupid enough to attack us, we will scare them away by taking our cowl off and saying we're Deathclaws. If we have to fight, these things will only get in the way; throw them away and get them back when we're done. Apart from when in a fight, get these off only when we're completely sure there's only people we can trust with us and we can't be seen by anyone else. If there's an accident and you lose your robe or it gets caught in something, we'll still use the Deathclaw excuse. If we get attacked while trying to explain, we'll answer in kind."

"That's great." Naeera exclaimed as she nimby moved towards the front door. "I'll be taking the bedrolls."

Screaming-Eagle narrowed her eyes in thought under her cowl, utterly ignoring the thief. Basic plan, with peaceful and intimidating responses to menaces to make wasteland dwellers steer clear of their path. Fights were covered, calm situations too… accidents, even. It was an extremely simple plan, but at least Keram-Rei had the decency to think of most possibilities. There wasn't an approach for every possible situation, but it was a sound plan and she didn't want nor need to make a list of all the technicalities and particulars. It could work.

"One problem's taken care of then!" Phoenix cheered with a grin. She cocked her hunting rifle and held it at ease across her chest. "From what I've heard in Boulder City, there's a new trading outpost at the crossroads of the U.S. 93 and the U.S. 95. It's east of Boulder City, we can't miss it." She rubbed her chin in thought. "Thing is, we can't use your horses to get there. We'll have to go on foot."

"How far is it from here?" Screaming-Eagle asked, worried, gripping her staff tight.

"Oh, I don't know…" Phoenix hummed pensively. "About seven miles."


	13. Trading

She felt hot, and her tail felt pinned under the robe. These, however, weren't her main annoyances. The problem was with the sight.

Naeera huffed the green cowl out of her eyes, but it eventually fell back over them. She then adjusted it with her hands and, when that didn't work, she decided to leave it be and keep looking at the road. Her first reaction would have been ripping it off with a frustrated snarl – and had it not been for Keram-Rei's rules, she'd have gladly done it. She was used to wearing a cowl, but hers wasn't _that_ long, for Dibella's sake.

Thus, she was forced to look no higher than Maria's head, who was holding her right hand and stood at the towering height of four feet. The little girl was going to reach and surpass her in a couple of years at best, she knew it. Her short stature would've normally worked to her advantage, given the handsome, muscled beast of a male walking at the front to warn them of any dangers lingering in the air. Problem was, he wore a long robe perfectly identical to hers in all regards but color - crimson. Under that was the heaviest and thickest armor ever conceived by mortals, so she just abandoned the thought of looking at his ass. A shame, really.

Keram-Rei acted as their rearguard, though why he had chosen that she didn't know. Certainly not to look at his crush, that was sure, since she was draped in a sky blue robe. Naeera had no idea what problems Screaming-Eagle had with her… well, prostitutes weren't held in high regard all right, but the red-scaled female's reaction had been exaggerated. Fuck, it had looked like she'd strained to avoid killing her. It didn't matter now though, with Maria and Phoenix separating them there was no reason for a sideswipe… not to say the mage didn't deserve one, but it wouldn't bring her anywhere.

Instead, she decided to look down at the cracked road. It was black, and she had absolutely no idea what it had been made from. She would've said rock at first glance, and the sensation was fairly similar under her taloned feet, but it couldn't have been rock: despite the damage caused by war, weathering and abandonment, it wasn't made from slabs – it was _continuous_. Even more mysterious were the husks of rusted steel at either side of the way, with only the largest ones still on the road, probably too hard to remove and just left there. Their true purpose baffled her mind. They weren't supposed to be like that, she was sure of it, but as to-

She bumped into Eyes-Of-Silver's tail. Raising her eyes, she saw it was held sidelong, and that everyone else had stopped when the werewolf had raised his fist. What had she missed?

"You may have noticed the flimsy stronghold ahead of us." Eyes-Of-Silver began in a calm tone. "What I have noticed, however, are the intentions of a five-men team of soldiers marching to meet us. I sense a faint trace of fear from all of them, although they appear to be covering it. The most certain thing is one, though: curiosity. They will run checks on us, I am sure, I believe they are not taking chances." He paused emphatically and sniffed once. "I smell gunpowder."

Stronghold? _Soldiers?_ What in Oblivion was he…

Oh, right.

The cowl.

Naeera risked exposing her snout to look in front of her, but she pulled her cowl back nonetheless. She was met with a mix of emotions, mostly confusion.

Further up the broad, boiling road, where it imperceptibly rose higher and higher along the hillside, she saw rust-red fences and bags of… something, arranged to look like low walls. A couple of towers stood at the edges of this so-called 'stronghold'. Few dark buildings stood behind the low walls, but those that did looked fairly unimaginative. The whole place looked unimaginative and _boring_, except for the small crowd she could faintly hear inside. Where had they ended up?

The strange thing, however, was the total absence of people on the road. The few she had managed to see, early on during the trip, had completely vanished after spotting them in the distance. It didn't come as a surprise to her that nobody followed, although she didn't really understand why. They were suspicious, sure, but not frightening. Just weird people in weird robes, they couldn't be _that_ freaky on a world that had fucked itself to Oblivion… right?

Apparently, they were. Good to know.

"I suggest a calm approach." Eyes-Of-Silver added, as the five men began to draw close enough for their faces to appear.

Well, they were five, sure thing. Men? Not really.

Naeera was surprised to see they were all women, all dressed in the same old, torn sand uniform and helmets and carrying the same… what were the things that shot called? 'Rayfulls', or something. Half wood, half metal, she had yet to understand how those things worked. She knew they were dangerous, though, and that was reason enough to keep calm. The soldiers' leader was distinguished by a small mantle pulled over her shoulder, a green beret and… well, she looked fairly older than the others.

"Let me do the talking." Phoenix told them, confidently cracking her fingers.

The crack of her four knuckles was answered by four clicks.

The troopers had raised their weapons and had them in their sights, each of them aiming at one of the Dragonborn. Naeera in particular looked into the brown eye of a young woman with unruly black locks, her skin the color of ebony. She looked like she'd just gotten out of her teens. Twenty, definitely no older than twenty-three. She was cute, with a small nose and soft features, no edges whatsoever on her face. There was also a little hesitation in her stance, although how it would affect her weapon, Naeera didn't know.

For now, she just knew they had to play it cool and raise their hands. She threw a quick glance at the others, and saw they were mimicking her movement – even Maria. She grit her teeth. If they even _thought_ about hurting the kid…

"Halt!" The front woman stopped and commanded when she got within thirty feet from them, her weapon trained on Phoenix with an unsettling calm, as if shooting kids were normal around here. Her tanned face was set in stone, although concern was plain in her storm gray eyes. A tuft of brown hair fell from under her immaculate beret. "I am Captain Helena Briggs, CO of the New California Republic forces garrisoned at the 188 Trading Post. Identify yourselves and state your destination and business at once."

"I'm Rebecca McKnight, citizen of the New California Republic and courier for the Mojave Express." Phoenix told her with a wavering smile. She cocked her head to her left. "The little girl's name is Maria. The other four are just mercenaries under my employ." She gave a nervous chuckle. "You know, you can never be too sure when travelling to Vegas, especially now that-"

"I asked for IDs, purpose and destination, not your opinion on the current situation." Captain Briggs coldly asserted, deadpan. Naeera had no trouble identifying her: she was a bitch. Pretty good at it, too. "I still don't have the names of your mercenaries, nor the reasons why you are headed to New Vegas."

Phoenix gulped hard. She had clearly never met someone this… well, _military_. Naeera was unfortunately used to these people. Such were the perks of the Imperial Legion. "They are-"

"Unless they're mutated or scarred beyond hope, I figure your mercs can talk for themselves – no need for you to speak in their place." The Captain interrupted her again, unflinching. Gods, was there any way this woman could become more of a pain in the ass? "You, with the brown cloak, at the back. Who are you?"

Keram-Rei loudly cleared his throat and made a very slight gesture towards himself with his raised hands. "Fireblade, ma'am." He growled. It wasn't one of hostility – not entirely, anyway. No, he'd made his voice sound hoarser, but… _why_? How would that help?

"Who's the leader of your little gang of monks?" Captain Briggs continued, impassive.

"Nobody, ma'am." Keram-Rei continued, this time in a croak. "We're all equals, and-"

"All the mercenaries I've met have a leader." The Captain politely, yet firmly, interrupted him. "You usually don't care about who leads, as long as you earn money - so there was a chance one of the women led you. They didn't try to speak before, now they're ruled out." She jerked her head towards Eyes-Of-Silver. "Most super mutants' intelligence is sub par, I highly doubt he's the guy. _You_ are the leader."

Naeera found it fairly hard not to snicker when the tip of Eyes-Of-Silver's tail twitched.

"Our employer is our leader, Captain." Keram-Rei growled, clenching his fists in the air. His gloved knuckles popped. "When there isn't one, we just live together. That's it. We work as a team, we live as a team. End of story."

"Hmm… let's say I'm buying that." Captain Briggs considered, before she turned her head around and narrowed her eyes on Naeera, her weapon still aimed at Phoenix. "Why are you wearing _cloaks_ in the middle of the desert?"

Naeera gupled and thought, _fast_. It was insane, true; she was hot and would have probably been drenched in sweat had she been a human. It kept the sun from basically cooking her flesh, but it drew a lot more heat – especially Keram-Rei's darker robe. Speaking of which… he'd talked until now, but she still didn't get why he'd used that voice. Maybe because of the heat, or-

This time, Naeera rolled her eyes and avoided slapping her own forehead. Of course.

The Captain cleared her throat impatiently. "Can you even _hear_ me?"

"Yes, it just hurts to talk." Naeera croaked apologetically, the smile playing on her lips veiled by her green cowl. She hacked and coughed a few times, just to make it more believable. "By the way, people know me as Snake Lady, thought you'd want to know. Anyway – it's because of a disease, you see. It's got most of our insides, and our skin, too. If we stay under the sun, the flesh starts to ache, then bleeds." She chuckled, but made it turn into a fit of coughing. She tried to make it as believable as possible, uncaring of how it actually ached in the end. "Got it for as long as I can remember, same for the others. They're Warhound and Screamer, big guy in red and woman in blue."

"I had already figured out who was who." Captain Briggs stated without so much as a sigh, as her soldiers took a collective step back. To her credit, she didn't move. "Your disease… is it contagious?"

Naeera managed a shrug, grinning all the time. "I'm pretty sure it isn't. We're always wearing robes and suits and gloves, so I can't really say for sure. What I can tell you is that it's bad."

"I trust you on that." The Captain muttered, a hint of disgust in her sharp voice. "Answer this: if you're mercenaries, where are your weapons?"

"Come on, where do you think?" Naeera rasped in reply, this time audibly amused.

"Just answer the question." Captain Briggs deadpanned, her eyes set in a faint scowl of annoyance.

"Under the robes, easier to play the harmless wayfarer this way." Naeera sighed with a roll of her eyes. There was just no room for _anything_ with a starch-ass like her.

Everything stretched out to a tense silence, with the soldiers nervously aiming their weapons at them with the occasional, slight shudder at the thought of what may hide under the robes. The Captain, instead, looked perfectly accustomed with the situation. She might have been mistaken for a statue, weren't it for the eyes moving between each of them as if to go over every detail that might not work.

Naeera was vaguely reminded of Legate Rikke, her commanding officer throughout most of the Stormcloak Rebellion. Well, Rikke was taller and definitely sexier, but the overall feeling wasn't so different. In an army that was almost certainly comprised of a huge majority of men, it must have been hard for her to reach captaincy. She'd had to play tough when she'd enlisted as a scout, too.

Well, if being given the choice between execution or being thrown into the penal scout battalion for pickpocketing General Tullius could be counted as 'enlisting', anyway.

"Uhm, can we go now?" Phoenix asked after a few moments, hopeful. "We aren't threats, right?"

"I'm not taking chances with diseases." The Captain eventually announced with a grim look on her face. "Either we put you in quarantine and have one of the Followers have a look at you, or we shoot you down and burn the bodies."

Naeera swallowed hard. This wasn't going to be good. They either got somewhere they couldn't move freely and be seen, only for Gods-knew what sort of things would happen, or they got killed in cold blood without second thoughts, there and then. Maria huddled closer to her, shivering.

"Don't move!" Captain Briggs commanded as she aimed her weapon at the little girl.

"She's just a kid!" Naeera spat with every last bit of contempt she could muster, her rage swelling. She wanted to take her two Dragonfang daggers and gouge that bitch's eyes out with them. "What could she possibly do to you?!"

"She could carry a grenade!" The Captain snarled back, her knuckles white from gripping her weapon. It was the first time she had lost her cool – but then again, so had Naeera. "You bastards always outfit kids with explosives because they look harmless!"

Naeera's breath caught in her throat. Her scream of outrage at the Captain died before she even opened her mouth, replaced only by a choked whine of shock. Children… there were people here who used children as baits, as… Gods, as _living traps_. It was insane, it was abhorrent… it was surreal, it couldn't be. Her ears had played some trick on her, she was sure of it. It wasn't possible. No, it wasn't possible.

"Alright, everybody, calm down!" Phoenix shouted and stomped a foot in what she thought to be authority, although in reality it came out more as the shriek of a frightened little girl. "Listen, the place is safe, I… I or Maria don't need them inside the Post – there's you people protecting it, right? I have to get water, food and ammo, and we have to be quick about reaching Vegas. Let them wait here for us, and let me and the kid go inside. Y-you'll still guard them, if you're so scared they're diseased. They're covered from head to toe in robes and suits and armor, there's no risk of it spreading – but hey, you can never be too sure."

Captain Briggs shot Naeera one last glare, then straightened her posture and gave a nod, her composure once again returned. "Do you have any documents to prove your identity, Ms. McKnight?"

"Oh, I have one, all right." Phoenix chuckled smugly. She got a hand to the right side of her head and drew her hair up.

The troopers let out a shocked gasp.

The Captain grinned – it was a small smile, but it looked sincere. "It's you, then."

"The Courier…" The dark-skinned soldier whispered in pure awe, her eyes wide on Phoenix. "Mr. New Vegas talked about you on the radio!"

"Got word of what you did in Boulder City from Lieutenant Monroe, good job." Captain Briggs continued, the corners of her eyes wrinkled even though she wasn't smiling anymore. "Hard to believe you convinced him through words." She raised a brow. "You didn't bribe him, did you?"

"No, of course not – I just talked him out of it!" Phoenix said defensively. She paused a little and cracked a grin. "Didn't have the money for it."

The Captain masked a _chuckle_ as a cough, before she glanced at her soldiers and nodded. Their stance eased visibly and they held their weapons across their chests, no more pointing them at any potential threats. She raised her eyes, and looked at the party without the hostility from before. "You can lower your arms and sit down, you'll wait for your employer here. Don't try any tricks on us, or we will open fire." She turned back to Phoenix. "You've been good to the NCR, kid. You and the little girl can go inside, buy whatever you need and leave with your mercs once you're done."

Naeera let out a breath she'd been holding since the dawn of time and dropped into a crouch, then sat cross-legged on the ground, careful not to let her very much inhuman feet show. She put a hand on the small of Maria's back and gently pushed her towards Phoenix.

"Are you gonna be alright?" Maria asked, still worried and scared. Her lower lip quivered.

"Don't worry, we'll be fine." Naeera waved her off with a smile. She only later realized it couldn't be seen and shook her head. "Come on, go with Phoenix and make sure to behave yourself."

Maria put on her determined face and nodded, then hurried over to Eyes-Of-Silver, gave him a silent hug and scurried off to Phoenix's side, where she promptly took the girl's hand.

Naeera sighed. She just hoped she wouldn't have to sit under the sun for long.

* * *

Maria gripped Becky's hand tight as they walked. There was little on her mind aside from worry, worry for her friends, worry for anything that could go wrong as they went. Still, she focused on the hand she held and steeled herself. She wasn't going alone, there was Becky with her.

In all honesty, she would've felt much safer with Mr. Wolf.

"Hey, what's wrong?" Becky asked her, squeezing her small hand in her fingers.

"I want Mr. Wolf, or Naeera." Maria whispered. She looked back to where the soldiers and the four colored shapes sitting under the sun. "I don't like this."

"Come on, we're going to be fine." Becky reassured her, and raised her hand to point her finger towards the camp. "See those turrets?"

"Y-yes…" Maria whispered and looked up. She could see them, with their structure made of rusty tubes and wooden planks. There was something gleaming near the top, though, something… _gray_, and metal.

"There's guards on them with really big guns." Becky continued in a hushed tone. "They're going to watch over us and the others. There's nothing to be afraid of, really."

Maria took a little courage at the mention of guards. It sure was nice to know there were people that made sure nothing or nobody attacked them. There was nothing to see in the open, just sand and rocks and wrecks – yet there was part of her that always saw something lurking in the warped metal, behind the boulders, under the very ground… it was stupid, she knew there wasn't anything around there, but the thought of something she couldn't see scared her. She looked over her shoulder nonetheless. What if it knew she could see it and cackled in its hiding place, ready to snatch her from her friends and drag her away? What would it think?

The tortured groan of metal snapped her from her thoughts and brought her back to the real world, back to the reinforced fence gate being pushed open by a couple of troopers. They were two burly men who wore the same armor as the women that had stopped them, only they also wore a helmet, transparent goggles and a piece of cloth wrapped around their faces.

"Thanks." Becky told them with a curt nod once the gate was open.

The one on the left looked at them from behind a low wall of brown bags and nodded back. "Don't mention it."

Maria arched her brows. These soldiers were a lot nicer than the other ones, and infinitely better than the legionaries. She waved her free hand at them and giggled when they hesitantly waved back. They looked so clumsy…

Becky pulled at her hand, and she took it as the signal it was time to go. She looked back in front of her and…

Frowned.

Basing her assumptions of the _Enseeyar_ on what she'd heard from some of the captured soldiers back at the camp, the nation (she wasn't really sure how big a nation was) sounded like paradise. Cities, technology, lots of people, freedom of speech – most important, a trading system that sort of worked. Not like the Legion's idea of trading, but beside that, she'd only heard good things on the West. Of course, this place _was_ better than the Camp.

That didn't mean it didn't _look_ awful.

The first thing that caught her eye were the two short bridges and the long structure of dark, ruined metal that stood upraised in the middle of the post, next to the former. It had a row of seats encircling it and few unremarkable people sitting on them, most of them putting at least two or three stools between each other - except for a couple of men that laughed loudly and hoarsely. Behind the counter, a brown-haired man in dark clothes cleaned glasses and, at the motion of one of the men, took an orange bottle from the shelf behind him and gave it to his customer. Curious, she'd never seen anyone drink anything other than water back at the Camp…

Around those Maria saw at least a dozen different stalls, all made from the same wood and pieces of scrap, yet all so different, from the colors to the wares to the merchants themselves… it was something she'd never seen. People walked to and fro, with the occasional soldier standing still or marching in patterns and eyeing everything. Used as she was to the Camp, there wasn't that big a crowd – not by a long shot – but given the small size of the post, the way people bustled around, how some of the packing animals followed their owners, the collective noise that came from all the travellers and merchants, it certainly was impressive.

She found her eyes widening at the sight. The place might have been bad, but it was _alive_. The smell wasn't nice, but the mix of different fragrances in the air was intoxicating. The activity and the different stands were confusing, but the clash of colors and movements made the ground and stalls and wares themselves come alive in her eyes. The racket was infernal, but it was all so overwhelming in a _good_ way, compared to what she was used to!

She must've made some strange face, because Becky looked at her and chuckled. "Enjoying it?"

Maria, stunned and speechless, limited herself to a simple nod.

Becky tugged at her arm, and she reluctantly tore her eyes from the sight and focused on the girl and on her hand. "Come on, we've got to get what we came here for."

"Can't we have a look at the other things?" Maria found herself asking, particularly interested by a man in a ragged red-and-blue striped jacket that sold all sorts of plushies. She pointed at him. "Like that sir?"

"I can't afford to spend too much, Maria." Becky sighed, somehow managing to make herself heard over the din. "Food, water and ammo I can buy, no problem. The rest… I've got to see if I take the others something, have them start training with guns."

Maria shrugged and followed her. Whatever, it didn't matter, just… didn't that white, fluffy thing with long ears look _cute_. She hadn't the faintest idea what it was, but she wanted to cuddle it and call it – _him_ Mr. Softiness.

After a little, she started to outright ignore whatever went on around her. The perk of having lived in a completely different world was the fact she wasn't familiar with this people's ways and, as such, she could perfectly try and block them out. She made her curiosity and her spirit of adventure calm down and didn't utter one word on the way to the black structure with the man that poured drinks. Why were they going there? Of all the places, it was the least interesting. She would've gone with the old lady that sold tiny metal men, big circles with ticking arrows and assorted memorabilia. Much better.

Becky let her hand go, grabbed her sides and set her on a high stool. Moments later, the girl sat down and whistled to the brown-haired man. He made his way up to them, and only now Maria saw how grimy his hair was and how gaunt he looked. He appeared to be middle-aged, and tired, the way one was when he worked all day. His brown eyes, however, were sharp and smart.

"Feelin' thirsty?" He asked in a deep, rich voice. Before either of them could reply, he set two glasses in front of them.

Maria was about to nod but, much to her annoyance, Becky shrugged. "Not really, thank you. I was more interested in buying supplies." She laced her fingers on the counter. "You got any food or water for sale?"

"You bet." The man replied with a faint smirk as he set aside the empty glasses. "I've got fresh purified water – in clean bottles, too. If you don't have the caps, there's also dirty water. As for food… well, I've got radroach, gecko and squirrel and, if you've got the caps, I can give you bighorner and brahmin meat." He clasped his hands together and smiled. "How's that sound?"

"It depends, how much for brahmin steaks and purified water?" Becky asked, a brow raised.

"Well miss, it's fifteen caps per steak and thirty per bottle of water." The man asserted with a perfectly calm face. "Is that good?"

Becky smiled and tilted her head like a little girl. "Nobody values brahmin meat higher than ten caps. Bottled water costs twenty, tops." She arched her brows. "Are you trying to rob me or what?"

The man sighed and shook his head. "Look, this water and this meat here are-"

"Completely normal water and meat." Becky concluded, harsh. "I can offer you eleven caps per steak and twenty-two for each bottle."

"I hate it when I find smart folks…" The man growled under his breath, then let out a long sigh. "How about thirteen and twenty-six?"

"Twelve and twenty-four." Becky replied, impassive. "Deal?"

The man rubbed at his unshaved chin for a while before he nodded. "Deal. How-"

"Six raw brahmin steaks and ten bottles of water, thank you." Becky answered with a broad smile.

"Wait, what?" The man muttered, his eyes set in a deep frown. He glanced between her and Maria for a few moments. "Just for you and the kid?"

"We've got friends outside." Becky shrugged, then motioned with her hand. "Now, if you were as kind as to get us our supplies, mister…"

"Kerr." The man provided. "Samuel Kerr."

"… Then I'll be glad to pay you, Mr. Kerr." Becky finished politely, and the man hurried off through a small door on the far end of the structure that presumably led to the back.

"What was that?" Maria asked, perplexed.

"Oh, just buying some stuff and making sure the price is good." Becky told her with a flick of her wrist. "Anywhere you go, people always try to sell you stuff for twice its real price. With Mr. Kerr, we got lucky."

Maria nodded slowly, not entirely sure she understood what the girl had meant. She couldn't count over ten, much less understand how much the things they'd bought actually costed or how good the deal was. From what she'd gotten, Becky was the party's expert when it came to talking to people around the Mojave – if she said it was true, she knew it had to be. There were so many things she wanted to learn from each of them…

A loud and sudden thump on the table nearly made her jump out of her skin, but she managed not to scream or fall off her stool by accident. When she looked back at the counter, she saw a couple of brown bags and the open hand of Mr. Kerr.

"Now for the caps." He told Becky, emphasizing his point with a movement of his fingers. "It'll be-"

"Three hundred and twelve, yeah." Becky blurted out and dropped a small dark sack into the man's palm. "Look, these are three and fifteen, keep the change." She got up, and Maria promptly jumped down her stool and got back to her side. "Know where I can find weapons around here?"

"Well, there was a former NCR lady around when we first opened, but she left when the Captain got here." Mr. Kerr stated as Becky put the two bags in her backpack. "Your best bet is Alexander, under the overpass. One of 'em Gun Runners."

While they put a very strange and very silly picture in Maria's head, the last two words made Becky's eyes light up. "Why, thank you, Mr. Kerr." She gave him a polite nod. "Have a nice day."

"You too, kid." Mr. Kerr said, when another whistle from one of his customers got his attention.

Becky looked down at Maria, took her hand and shrugged a shoulder. "Time to find this Alexander."

Maria didn't reply; instead, she dutifully let Becky guide her through the crowd and to a set of stairs right between the two small bridges, all rigorously made of concrete. There was nobody lying around the stairs, though the empty bottles lying around were a certain indicator of someone's recent presence. Not soldiers, of course – as far as she was concerned, she'd never heard of soldiers drinking from dark glass bottles.

… At least, that was in the Legion.

Before she could ask what these soldiers used to drink, they got to the ground of the much less crowded road below. It wasn't much darker, but the shade was a pleasant relief from the heat of the day. The only people around were a couple of soldiers at each end of the road and two armed men that definitely _weren't_ soldiers. Their outfits looked heavier, covered in more defensive plates, and they carried shinier guns. Between the two of them a man sat on a crate, dressed mostly in brown and blue, with a lit… _stick_ in his lips. What… what was that supposed to be?

Maria tugged at Becky's sleeve, still curiously eyeing the man. An acrid, pungent smell reached her nostrils and made her grimace in disgust. "What's that man doing?"

"He's smoking." Becky replied, mild surprise in her tone. "Are you telling me you've never seen a... oh, right." She rolled her eyes. "Legion forbids smoking."

"Why do people smoke?" Maria insisted. There had to be a good reason for that man to risk burning his own lips.

"I dunno." Becky shrugged. "Smells bad, tastes bad, and supposedly makes you feel bad after a while. Guess some people just like it."

Maria blinked a few times as she looked back and forth between the sitting man and Becky. She thought better than to ask why people did something like that and just shook her head, walking alongside the girl until they finally reached their intended target.

The man – obviously Alexander - looked up, glanced at Maria, then shrugged and appeared to take a breath _through_ the stick, given how its tip burned brighter for an instant. He had a large, round head and a nose like that of a pig – and a face that immediately struck her as unpleasant. His hair dark brown and cut short, while his eyes were small and narrowed on them. "Is there some reason I should be talking to you?"

Becky's posture hardened at his tone, but she appeared to keep her cool. "I've been told you're the one selling weapons around here."

"Am I selling?" Alexander asked to himself, before he nodded once. "Yes. Am I selling _to you_? No." He snorted and spared an amused look to Maria. "Sorry to hurt your feelings, but you're small time. Move along."

Oh, just how much Maria now wanted to punch his giant nose and make him eat his stupid smoking stick… sadly, she knew that wasn't an option and did the only thing she could: glare.

"You're a Gun Runner, right?" Becky kept on with a lower voice and a grin. "Come on, someone like you has to have some real nice toys for someone like _me_ to play with." Her grin broadened. "For the right price."

Alexander took a last drag and spat what remained of his stick on the ground, then got up and crushed it with his boot. "You might be on to something." He motioned for the man behind him to get to the crate. "I like to hang on to any weapon mods I run across…"

The guard lifted the lid off, and Becky's eyes went wide. Maria, however, wasn't much interested in weapons, but on the kid she'd just spotted not so far to her left. He appeared to wear some sort of old, torn uniform and a rust-red crown, and she saw a lot of useless things around him, most of which she didn't even recognized. He looked half-asleep.

Alexander snorted a chuckle and jerked his head towards the crate. "Take a look."

Maria freed her hand from Becky's grip and tapped on her elbow. "I'm going over to that other kid, okay?"

"Yes, yes, just… keep where I can see you." Becky whispered absentmindedly, then turned to the man. "Listen, it pains me to say so, but I can only afford some ammo and a few…"

By the time Becky finished her sentence about guns, Maria was already on her way to the kid's corner. The closer she got, the more she saw that mess had some sort of… _order_ to it – she didn't know how, but the pots and the flag and the burned books and the million other things around made sense the way they were. The boy, dark-skinned and short-haired, raised his head and blinked at her.

"Hi." Maria waved at him, and sat in front of him.

He squinted at her, as if he couldn't tell she was really there, and shook his head. "Hi…"

"What's your name?" She asked, curious. He looked weird, but perfectly fine at the same time. She had the feeling he was just… how he was supposed to be.

"I don't really remember." The boy told her, a bit saddened. "People around here just call me the Forecaster."

"That sounds weird…" Maria admitted with a raised brow. "Anyway, I'm Maria. Nice to meet you."

The Forecaster frowned. "You're… strange."

This time, she narrowed her eyes on him and folded her arms on her chest. "That's not a very nice thing to say."

"No, I mean you aren't strange _strange_… but _strange_ strange." He said apologetically, although now it sounded even worse. "You aren't like anyone I've ever met. You _feel_ different - strange."

Maria's expression changed from angered to just puzzled. That didn't make any sense. "I don't understand."

In response, the Forecaster just shook his head and took his red crown off. He closed his eyes, as if waiting for something to happen, but just blinked. "I can't think – even with my medicine off!"

"Wait, that thing's your medicine?" She inquired, and her gaze was immediately drawn to the strange item the boy had been wearing. It looked normal. A little bit unusual, but still normal.

"It's my headache medicine, but now… it's like you're my medicine – but more powerful." He told her. He looked really, really surprised of this, although she had no idea what he was talking about. "I think there's something special about you, Maria, but you don't know it yet."

Maria suddenly felt very hot around her cheeks and looked down, embarassed. "Th-thank you…"

Only then she noticed the footsteps not far behind her. "Maria, we're done here! Come on."

"I'm coming!" Maria replied, then looked back at the Forecaster and waved, smiling. "Nice knowing you. Bye, Forecaster!"

The Forecaster put his crown back on and waved back, smiling for the first time since she'd seen him. "Bye, Maria."

She hurried off to Becky's side, who was waiting for her next to the stairs, her backpack visibly heavier. "There you are." She tilted her head and looked at the Forecaster, who was still sitting in his corner, and giggled. "Who's your friend?"

"He's called the Forecaster." Maria immediately answered, excited at her new acquaintance. "He's really weird, but he's good."

Becky didn't reply right away. Maria looked up and saw her with the dumbest, smuggest smile she'd ever seen in her life… in which case might have been a bad example.

"What?" Maria asked, frowning. "What's so funny?"

"You're blushing." Becky giggled in a sing-song tone.

"That's not true!" Maria hissed, and tightened her grip on her hand. "I'm not blushing!"

"Sure, sure, whatever you say." Becky scoffed, obviously not convinced, but at least she dropped the subject once they had climbed the stairs and gotten back up. "So… do you like the place?"

"It's great!" Maria enthusiastically replied, giving one last look at the multitude of colors, people and wares around the post. They probably weren't going to come back any time soon, she knew it, but she was also sure there were going to be more amazing places they'd travel to.

She felt a hard push against her shoulder and was sent against Becky. Had she been just a little bit heavier, they would've both been knocked to the ground. Lucky for both, she was small _and_ light, so she just held onto Becky and got back to her feet.

"Oh, I'm so sorry!" A female voice exclaimed. She turned towards the source of the voice, annoyed, and met the intense brown eyes of a pretty young woman – she'd never seen anyone like her, except for the few unlucky girls some legionaries dragged to the pens as soon as they laid their eyes on them. Her soft, smooth face was in contrast with her ugly brown robe (much, much uglier than Ray's – and that was saying something).

"D-don't worry about it." Becky stuttered behind her. Maria looked back at her, wanting her to say something, but the only reaction she could think of was just a dumb, smug grin.

Becky was blushing.

* * *

Keram-Rei rhythmically tapped his fingers on his knees, still sitting cross-legged. Phoenix could have been away for days, as far as he was concerned. It wasn't so much for the heat, mostly absorbed by the Stalhrim plates, rather for the impossible boredom that came with sitting under the sun with a squad of soldiers currently engaged in a conversation with Naeera – and Naeera only. Eyes-Of-Silver couldn't speak unless he wished to blow his cover as the big, ugly idiot of the team, and Screaming-Eagle wasn't going to anyway.

_Doesn't leave us much choice, huh?_

He wanted to groan, but resisted the urge. _Looks like it._

_Hey, it could be worse. You could be trapped inside of an idiot until he decided it was high time to give you a physical form._

Keram-Rei snorted and folded his arms on his chest. _Not going to happen this quick, and you know it._

_Of course I do, you stupid prick. What I also know is that now I'm supposed to be helpful._

He paused for a minute, thinking about the possibilities. Who knew what sort of insights he could get from a being as ancient as Treads-In-Gloom… the bastard was always going to try and trick him into doing something stupid just for the sake of it, he knew it well, but he could also provide great help. He was more than a thousand years old, that was sure.

_In case you're wondering, I was born during the First Era._

Keram-Rei swallowed. First… by the Divines, the _First_ Era? _Holy shit, you're that old?_

_I was considered old when I fought in the Three Banners War, Keram-Rei. I was already a vampire, back then. What came with Akaviri blood Magic just added to my knowledge – which, by the way, was fucking stellar – and helped me during the war._

He couldn't help but frown. _Wait a second… _Akaviri_… blood magic?_

_Yeah, I picked a fight with a Kamal survivor from the Third Invasion some time before the war. But that's another story. It's pretty long, and-_

Eyes-Of-Silver cleared his throat about as loudly as the crack of thunder, and everyone craned their necks to look at him. He simply (and very ominously) raised his arm and pointed further up the road.

_Another time, then._

Keram-Rei sighed in relief. Sure enough, there were Maria and Phoenix and the girl in the brown robe walking down the road to get back to them.

He frowned.

Who in Oblivion was the girl in the brown robe?

"Are you seeing this?" Keram-Rei whispered, getting closer to Screaming-Eagle as he got up. "I don't remember any third human."

"Yes… I don't understand." Screaming-Eagle murmured back, uncertain. "What has she done?"

"Looks like our time's up." Captain Briggs commented as she and her soldiers stood in formation and held their rifles to their chests, inadvertedly interrupting their hushed conversation. "Knowing the place, I'm surprised it didn't take her longer."

Keram-Rei limited himself to a grunt of agreement and a nod, hiding the growing sense of anger rising inside of him. The most important matter at hand right now was who the _fuck_ Phoenix had brought along and why in Oblivion she'd thought it to be a good idea. It was another person who needed an explanation, who needed to stay with them, who had to cope with them – Divines, another unforseeable and potentially fatal reaction! He'd already been shot twice by Phoenix, _twice_.

He didn't want to repeat the experience of a possible friend turning into a foe. Thus, he wanted to avoid making friends until people could manage not to shoot them on sight through fame or, if need be, sheer terror.

But no, she just _had_ to bring someone else in.

As the new arrival closed in, striding next to Phoenix, he noticed she was slightly taller than the girl, and better-looking, too – although he suspected that came from the age. She looked older than Phoenix, perhaps ten or so years older, with deep brown eyes, thin eyebrows and hair carefully hidden under the cowl of her robe. Which, by the way, might have as well been made from centuries-old jute sacks sewn together.

Another thing he noticed was Phoenix's imperceptible smile and her furtive glances towards the new girl. Why, he had no idea.

_For fuck's sake, you're just so fucking dense at times._

Keram-Rei sighed and shook his head. There would be time for that later.

"Alright people, we can move now." Phoenix brightly announced as she arrived, her backpack more on the verge of exploding than before. "We got what we were looking for."

"And something more." The young woman to her left added, making her giggle. She looked at them, beaming, and bowed her head a little. "Hi, I'm Veronica."

"There will be time for introductions later." Keram-Rei growled acidly, before he turned to the other Dragonborn. "Let's get going, I don't want to stay here longer than necessary." He glanced towards the NCR troopers and bowed respectfully. "Captain Briggs, soldiers, farewell."

"If you want to get to Vegas, walk along the perimeter to the right until you hit the northwestern road." Captain Briggs suggested, and nodded back. "Good luck."

As the soldiers marched away and back into the 188 Trading Post, they got back on the move without further ado. Maria went between Naeera and this 'Veronica', Phoenix took her place to Veronica's right and Screaming-Eagle's left; Eyes-Of-Silver led them and he took the rear like before. The short hike around the post and to the road was mostly flat – almost better than the cracked, abandoned ruin of a way that awaited them. The further away they got, the more car wrecks there were both on the road and to the sides. It appeared most people going to or away from Vegas got stuck here when the bombs fell. Some still had skeletons inside…

Keram-Rei shook his head, looked back, and saw the Trading Post was a ways behind them. A longer distance than the snipers' range, at any rate. There was a small abandoned gas station up ahead, one of the many Poseidon Energy service stations built all over the country before the war. Most of the ruined vehicles were focused around the area, including a large keeled-over tanker.

"We're getting inside." Keram-Rei ordered, pointing at the abandoned ruin. "We need to talk."

"Wait, what happened to your voice?" Veronica asked him, her brows raised. "You sounded awful back there. Did your throat get better, or were you just-"

"By Kynareth, just wait until we get there." Naeera told her. "I know it sounds shady and all, and it probably is, but you'll have to trust us. No offense, but you're sort of unexpected."

Veronica turned to Phoenix, clearly looking for answers, but the girl just sighed. "Look, once we're somewhere safe it will be easy to talk."

"Oooh, mysterious!" Veronica giggled, amused. "I'm already liking you guys."

Keram-Rei groaned and quickened his step, motioning for the others to follow his lead. They didn't oppose and made short work of the way without uttering one word, not even Maria dared speak now.

He vaulted over a car's hood, got to the door and kicked it open, succesfully unhinging it and making it crash on the ground with a loud _whump_. Completely unnecessary, but a good way to vent his anger. He entered the building and, when he made sure there wasn't a living soul between the rusted shelves or behind the counter, he whirled around and glared at Phoenix and Veronica.

_Oh, I'm not missing this one!_

Veronica glanced back at the door, then looked at him. "Look, was that really necessary? I mean-"

"Just what in Oblivion were you thinking when you brought her along?" Keram-Rei snapped and pointed at the brown-robed woman. "You know we're just supposed to get to Vegas!"

"And you are just supposed to follow me and help me in exchange for help and guidance, or did you just forget it?" Phoenix barked back, both fists placed on her hips as she glared fiercely at him. "You agreed to my terms, remember?"

"Other potentially impressionable humans weren't part of the deal, Rebecca!" Keram-Rei snarled, his gloves squeaking when he clenched his fists. "Who knows how she's going to react?"

Veronica raised her hands in a disarming gesture. "Look, unlike the rest of the Brotherhood, I have nothing against mutants or-"

"We are neither humans nor mutants, hence the robes." Screaming-Eagle said with calm.

Veronica frowned and turned to Phoenix. "You said they were mutants."

"I had to!" Phoenix hissed, although now her tone was much calmer and much more controlled than just a few seconds earlier. "What sort of crazy idiot would follow me knowing the only human in my party, barring me, is Maria?"

"Thanks for calling me a crazy idiot." Veronica laughed, no sign of hostility in her voice. "Come on, who would follow you? This just got a million times more interesting than before!"

Keram-Rei was about to snap back at her, when he paid attention to the words. He assumed a calmer, upright stance and arched a brow. "You… aren't going to try and kill us if we show ourselves?"

"What? No!" Veronica said, beaming. "Look, I just wanted to travel to interesting places, but now that I know there's non-human people thrown into the mix… damn, I would've signed in sooner, if possible."

"I believe this to be proof enough of her peaceful intentions, Keram-Rei." Eyes-Of-Silver calmly asserted. "If it makes you more tranquil, however, I can only smell excitement on her. There is neither hidden fear nor veiled suspicion in her words. She is being most sincere."

Veronica's eyes widened on Eyes-Of-Silver. "I've never heard a super mutant talk like you – accent, words, tone, nothing."

"Because, as Screaming-Eagle has already kindly informed you, we are _not_ mutants." Eyes-Of-Silver gently nodded. "We are Argonians."

At the puzzled look Veronica gave him, Keram-Rei took a step forward, hands at the edges of his cowl. "Look, it's going to be easier this way."

He raised his eyes to meet the others' gazes, nodded, and pulled his robe off. The sound echoed four times inside the small station, and soon the four cloaks were discarded on the ground. Eyes-Of-Silver stood proud in his Dragonbone plate, perpetually grinning as his horns and spikes scraped the ceiling and his talons dug into the floorboards. Screaming-Eagle lightly leaned against her staff for support, while Naeera had her hips cocked to one side, the claws on her left foot cutting a drawing on the ground.

_Nice dramatic effect, buddy._

Keram-Rei ignored him and simply folded his arms on his Stalhrim-plated chest, his blue eyes set into the young woman's paralyzed face. "This is the reason we were wearing those cloaks. As you can see, we're-"

"Holy shit, you're fantasy Deathclaws!" Veronica shrieked excitedly. She hurried over to Keram-Rei and started to look at his armor and poke at his feathers and scales, going over the Stalhrim plates and leather harnesses. Her questing hands went wherever they could, between the joints of his armor, on his scalp, around his horns and even on his tail. Just when his irritation at her invasion of his personal space was about to turn into rage, she took a step back, seemingly satisfied with her examination.

"Do that again, and I'll paralyze you." Keram-Rei threatened her through a scowl and gritted teeth. "Or _worse_."

Veronica breathed heavily for a few seconds, then clasped her hands to her mouth. "This can't be happening. It's too crazy and _awesome_ to be happening."

"You'll get used to it, trust me." Phoenix assured her and rested a hand on her shoulder. "He's Keram-Rei. The red one without the tail is Screaming-Eagle, the gray, short one's Naeera and the white giant is called Eyes-Of-Silver."

"Fantasy Deathclaws." Veronica whispered in awe.

"Well, that was much better than what I'd have expected!" Naeera exclaimed, and patted Veronica's shoulder as she got her green robe from the ground. "Welcome aboard, Veronica."

"You're going to have a lot of fun!" Maria merrily piped up.

As Keram-Rei and the other Dragonborn put their robes on once again, ready to once again walk under the desert sun, Phoenix playfully punched Veronica's arm. "So, what do you think?"

"This is… I mean, you… I… _they_…"Veronica tried, then sighed in surrender and shook her head. "Fantasy. Deathclaws."


	14. Rocket Science

Hmm, nothing. The wind brought nothing with it, only the air of the dead city ahead. Yet it wasn't dead, he knew that much. Life had begun again inside of it, albeit at its own pace – or so he'd been told. One thing was sure, though: most of it was just a mass of ruins and wreckages, with the occasional pile of bones marking its ancient citizens. The new, civilized ones huddled in the middle, drawn to the now-unlit tower whose tip stood at under a third of the White Gold Tower – and which still dwarfed the buildings around it. Then everything's height fell abruptly at a certain, arbitrary line that no doubt coincided with a wall. What had once been shops and homes weren't higher than four storeys… if undamaged, of course. Most of them had crumbled to dust.

They had just reached the outskirts of a part of this 'Las Vegas' city named 'Henderson', to its Southeast. Its founders must have possessed an unsettingly familiar Imperial dialect and a good dose of humour, because he had yet to see any actual grass. It had been a long walk to reach it, about eight miles covered in three hours and a half, from the Trading Post to… well, a scrabble on the fence called the nearby location 'Foothill High School'. There had to be some strange reason for the name that had certainly been lost to the tides of time. Why _high_? The building looked fairly squat and compact to him.

He put the thoughts from his mind and jumped down a metal wreckage's ruined form (Phoenix had called this particular one a 'van'), which groaned in relief the moment his talons left its metal rooftop. It had been a miracle, how it hadn't collapsed under his weight.

Eyes-Of-Silver's senses were on high alert the moment he set foot on the ground, as they had always been since he'd retrieved Maria and had agreed to join the others; no point in possessing preternatural senses if he couldn't warn his party of anything in their immediate proximity. His eardrums caught little of import, aside perhaps from some small animals crawling through the buildings in search for food. His eyes, keen as ever, saw no more than the oppressing desolation that had reigned for two centuries on this road. His smell, though, brought him the most interesting results.

Not far to the West he located a facility with traces of metal and chemicals unknown to him, accompanied by the strong scent of non-natural combustion. Further Northeast, he picked up what could only be identified as humans. Their blood, however, felt poisonous _and_ poisoned to him, not to mention the stench of their skin and clothing. There were many of them, men and women alike, focused near rust, a strange fuel and corpses, it seemed. Blood was certainly part of the equation, as were bones and animals – be they dead and rotting or alive and filthy.

He held up a fist and stopped the stride he'd barely commenced. Naeera once again bumped into his tail. Now he seriously doubted it to be another accident.

"What's wrong?" Veronica asked, her tone filled with puzzlement. Her excitement had, at least, faded away. Good Gods, he'd thought she would have never shut up.

"I have sensed the scent of two places of interest." Eyes-Of-Silver announced to the whole party, not just her. "Whereas the main objective of our enterprise lies Northwest, there is a facility of sorts West of here. Further to the Northeast, instead, I have detected a large presence of humans, civilized or otherwise - though I suspect the latter, in our case."

He felt the everyone tense at the mention of other humans, save Maria and Naeera.

"Fiends?" Keram-Rei dared ask, somewhere between annoyed and afraid.

"Fiends." Veronica and Phoenix confirmed in unison.

"I like the West part, though." Veronica added, cheerful. As with most other times, it hit him as forced, unsincere; it was a veil hiding something she did not want to show. "There's the REPCONN Headquarters there. Never got inside, but I'd like to have a look."

"Not a chance, we've lost too much time already." Keram-Rei snorted as he turned towards their… well, leader was such a strong word. 'Protegé' sounded better. "Haven't we?"

"Well, there isn't really a time limit on it…" Phoenix hesitated. She had put emphasis on 'time limit'; her tone suggested a correlation with her pheromones. Peculiar, how this girl had developed an infatuation on a young woman she'd barely met – and to whom she had said very little during the entire trip here. "What do you think, Veronica?"

"If it's not a stretch, I'd like to go there." Veronica replied, none the wiser. "Knowing the place, there's going to be some interesting technology there…"

Had Eyes-Of-Silver had any ears, they would've perked up instantly at the mention of technology. He turned at once to look intently at Veronica. "Pardon me, _technology_? Is there… is there a chance that we may find something of use, perhaps? Something operational?"

Veronica raised a brow. "It all depends on what you mean with 'something of use'. Do you mean functioning robots, or-"

A word caught his attention, and that word only.

_Robots._

"Is there a concrete possibility of recovering active or otherwise intact Animunculi?" Eyes-Of-Silver pressed on with unsteady voice, growing more excited by the second. Mindless Dwarven automatons were one thing, but… but _intelligent_ ones, ones created to speak and fight and adapt to combat situations as he'd been told? These were the sort of machines whose mysteries he truly looked forward to unravel.

At Veronica's frown, Screaming-Eagle let out a sigh. "With _Animunculi_, he means robots."

"Oh, right." Veronica muttered, then raised her eyes, smiled and nodded. "Sure, there's got to be a lot of robots around there. We're talking about REPCONN, they got bought by RobCo just before the war. They increased automated security, from what I've heard."

"'Tis decided, then!" Eyes-Of-Silver cheered, clasping his hands together. "To the REPCONN Headquarters we go!"

Seeing how nobody appeared to openly protest at the initiative, he ignored Veronica trying to take the lead and let his nose guide him. It had to be… ahead, slightly to the right. Yes, they could follow the same broad avenue they stood upon. The way wasn't terribly blocked by rubble or wrecks, too. There had been worse, near the city's border.

More surprising yet, none of them seemed to start talking, they just remained silent. Curious thing, seeing how their entire group would make for a fairly interesting topic of discussion, if…

"Hey, why does he keep talking about… _smelling_ things?" Veronica whispered uneasily. He heard her scratch the back of her head in nervousness. "Do all of you rely on smell so heavily?"

"No, our smell is just a little better than yours." Naeera murmured in reply. "It's because he's a werewolf."

There was a pause, complete with a very audible gulp. "A werewolf. You… you're telling me he's a werewolf. Like, big wolf… _thing_ with claws and teeth."

"There's a reason he's called Mr. Wolf." Maria added defensively, probably with that adorable scowl of hers covered by a wild strand of fiery red hair and her arms crossed over her tiny chest, if the rustle of fabric was anything to go by. He found himself smiling under his cowl at the thought.

A distinctly annoyed sigh came from the battlemage behind them. "Werewolves come with enhanced senses. _All_ of them."

The discussion came to an abrupt end.

"Yes, I am a werewolf, Veronica." Eyes-Of-Silver finally answered without turning, letting a slight hint of amusement touch his tone. He shrugged a shoulder before unleashing his payback. "As much as Keram-Rei and Screaming-Eagle are mages, at any rate."

"They're _what_?!" Veronica yelped in absolute astonishment.

"Mages, as in, we use magic." Keram-Rei interrupted her. "Don't even get me started, or-"

Eyes-Of-Silver shook his head and sighed, blocking out the discussion that was about to unfold. The way he understood it, this world wasn't magic in the slightest. It must have been hard… well, maybe not hard, but certainly strange to meet someone proclaiming to use magic. He could perfectly understand her – if someone had told him he would find a place where Animunculi talked and reasoned with man, where there was no magic and no race other than humans, he would've had dismissed them as madmen. Magic must have been an absurd concept, a fantasy to each and every human on this planet.

"No, not to everyone." Keram-Rei sighed, halfway through resignation and annoyance. "Come on, Veronica, I mean-"

At Keram-Rei's words, his mind brought him the memory of the odd scent of a lonely child, trapped in a camp of maniacs and slaves, scared beyond words. He smirked ever-so-slightly.

His talons scraped on the asphalt, a sound and feeling he had rapidly gotten used to and one he could perfectly ignore. Harder to ignore was the number of abandoned cars on the road. Once in a while he saw one or two skulls leering at him from their ancient seats, still miraculously perched upon a dry spine and brittle bones. Yet, death was nothing new to him, the only difference here was its sheer scale. It wasn't so illogical, war was part of every sapient being's nature – especially humans. Foolish of them not to think of the consequences, but then again, had war ever been a sensible affair?

"Never!" Screaming-Eagle snorted indignantly. "Just how foolish do you think us to-"

Eyes-Of-Silver sighed. They were still going on.

Mounds of bricks, shattered glass and rubble gathered on the footways at the sides of the streets. A large part of the buildings was mostly intact, much to his surprise. Judging by the thickness of the walls and the quality of the materials employed, it was a miracle this city wasn't an uneven plain of pulverised stone. To him, it felt as though these humans hadn't cared about how their homes, shops and workplaces were built, just that they were there. It was a preposterous idea, but… it almost seemed like people had _known_ their world was about to come to an end.

"Oh, look up!" Veronica said, bringing his meditations to an end. "That's the REPCONN radio tower. We're almost there, just another turn."

Eyes-Of-Silver raised his head and saw a metal structure rise over the rooftop of those few buildings that still possessed one. The tower wasn't plain as he'd imagined it, it was made from steel beams arranged in a crisscross pattern. To the top of the tower were at least a dozen bowls that might have once been white, but that were now devoured by rust. It ended in jagged spikes of brown-grey metal, its tip certainly eroded to memory.

"What purpose did it serve?" Eyes-Of-Silver asked, perplexed. To him, this 'radio' felt pointless. What did it even do? Why waste precious metal on such a thing? Still, there was much to be learned from these humans and their strange world. They were fairly creative under certain aspects.

"Well, it allowed information and transmissions to be sent at long distances." Veronica told him. "Doubt there's anything still functioning, though. The place has been abandoned for more than two hundred years."

Eyes-Of-Silver raised a brow. "How could it possibly send such messages?"

"Radio waves, received and transmitted by those dishes." Phoenix informed him, a finger pointed at the once-white dishes atop the 'antenna'. "Don't ask for details, I just know the base idea."

"Long story short, music or news are turned into waves and sent by one of those dishes to be caught by another dish somewhere else and be heard." Veronica picked up with a shrug. "It's pretty complicated, and this one's broken, so we've got no way of showing you. There are quite a few functioning radios in the Mojave, those are much better. Maybe you could go to one of them and ask the operators."

Eyes-Of-Silver hummed in assent. A most interesting idea indeed.

When they turned the last corner of the street, though, he finally saw the building upon which the radio tower sat, and…

He had to confess, it was a bit of a disappointment.

The place was a shallow, three-storey thing which, weren't it for the few curves, might have reminded him of a brown cube. A thing that could only be described as a large _brick_ stood in front of the antenna's base and was covered by a 'REPCONN' sign in bold, tilted greying letters. The space around it was occupied by what appeared to be lampposts and yet more ruined vehicles. Although, these ones were set in an orderly fashion, almost on a grid-like pattern. A fence might have once surrounded the REPCONN Headquarters, but now only few parts of it were left standing. Those few poles that still stood were bent and broken.

He led the way through the paintless wreckages, his eyes focused on the entrance to the building. They had no reason to approach this location other than curiosity. That, in his opinion, was more than enough to render the visit much more interesting than one caused by necessity. It made everything stand out, it made him feel like a child entering a house he'd never been to or an explorer discovering lands unknown.

A sniff of the air brought him the chemical-rich, coppery scent of blood. Not too old, definitely not over two days had passed since it had been spilled. They were bound to find corpses in the building.

The buzzing in his ears and the smell of burnt fuel was getting more annoying by the second, however. How had he even managed to ignore them, so close as they were to…

"Divines almighty, what is _that_?" Eyes-Of-Silver managed as he turned towards the source.

An opaque metal _ball_ hovered roughly a feet above the ground. Some sort of burning contraption managed to keep it afloat, while one of its eyes turned towards him. It would have reminded him of an insect's antenna made from steel and joints. Its two other eyes were busy on watching either the building or the wrecks, whilst its tentacle-like limbs hardly moved at all. One ended in a circular, saw-toothed blade; another one finished in a two-fingered claw, closer to a pincer than anything. The last one, instead, was a short tube with a dagger-like green tip. It disturbed him, how this thing idly flew over the ground without any form of work or evident means of motion, just the… fire underneath it. It was… _wrong_, in a way he couldn't really grasp. Impossible. Outlandish. Otherworldly.

He snorted in dry amusement. Perhaps _that_ was the perfect word.

"That's a Mr. Handy." Keram-Rei helpfully provided him. "To answer your first question: a _robot_."

Eyes-Of-Silver grimaced in distaste. "If the first of such constructs I run across is a bloody tentacled ball, I am not entirely sure I want to know what else there may be out there."

"Don't worry, you're gonna like Sentry Bots, big guy." Veronica added cheerfully, patting his shoulder as she passed him and approached the flying ba- _Mr. Handy_. "Hey there."

"Good morning, ma'am." The robot _answered_. Eyes-Of-Silver took a few steps closer, curiousity taking the better of him and casting the displeasure aside. The machine turned an eye towards him and made an attempt at bowing. "And good morning to you, sir. How may I be of service?"

Eyes-Of-Silver blinked, astounded. "Unbelievable…"

"Yes, REPCONN is quite _unbelievable_, is it?" The Mr. Handy replied with painfully false enthusiasm. "For further information, talk to my colleague, the tour guide inside. I am certain he may provide you with all the information you wish."

Eyes-Of-Silver's curious smile turned into a disappointed grimace.

Ah, so _this_ was the great intelligence he had imagined. His expectations and hopes, which had been soaring just a moment before, plummeted to the ground at the machine's words. An automated response. Key words that triggered a reply. No dialogue, no emotions, no… _feeling_. It was an unnatural surrogate, a parody of conversation perpetrated through pre-determined speech patterns.

He couldn't deny the convenience of such a system, though. Plus, there was still the wonder of discovering the functioning and creation of these machines to be had, too, along with the hidden particulars and details that made such poor imitation of speech possible.

Well, at least he had managed to salvage what he could from the situation.

"Nope, just a maintenance bot." Veronica shrugged, taking a step back and shaking her head. "Won't get much from him. I could try and reprogram it to help us, RobCo stuff isn't hard to manipulate."

The robot hovered back defensively with an indignant, breathless huff. "The manipulation of all RobCo property will be met with force. Please desist, ma'am."

Veronica scoffed and crossed her arms on her chest in challenge. "Oh yeah? Look, your claws are broken, your plasma gun is empty, and your saw blade's jammed. What are you going to do, exactly? Ram into me?"

That was all the suggestion the machine needed. It retreated in a brief run-up to gain the necessary momentum; none of the others noticed it.

Eyes-Of-Silver tore the robe free from his shoulders in a flash of crimson. His hands found grip on one of the battle-axes attached to his back, and soon he held it two-handed. He raised it high above his head with unnatural speed and brought it down in a sloping arc, putting all his force behind the blow. The blade cut through the Mr. Handy's steel hull and its inner workings like butter, cleaving it from its eyes' attachment to its arms. Sparks and greasy, black oil spat from the broken machine as it clattered to the ground in an ungraceful crash, much unlike its previous hovering.

Part of him – the wilder, leashed one - cursed these machines for not bleeding when he carved them open.

Then, as though nothing had happened, he passed his metal thumb and index on the blade to clean it of the oil and fastened it to his back once again, next to its twin weapon. He scooped the robe up with his ebony tail to bring it to his hand, unfolded it, dusted it and put it back on his shoulders to conceal his form and weapons. None of the other machines (which he had only then noticed flying through the abandoned cars) appeared to respond to the destruction of their similar. Good. They had been lucky with this one, the others may very well have had still-functioning weaponry.

He turned to a speechless Veronica and bowed his head a little. "You are welcome."

Veronica raised her eyes to meet his as her jaw dropped, giving him a fairly unnecessary (and undesired) look down her throat. "You… that robot - I mean… damn, that was _fast_!"

"Yes, I am given an advantage when it comes to senses, reflexes and physical capabilities in general." Eyes-Of-Silver conceded. He turned to the others. "Now, may we enter the building and begin our exploration?"

"We are seven, six of whom ready to fight whatever may wait inside." Screaming-Eagle began, calm and methodical, stopping Phoenix dead in her tracks by resting the tip of her staff on the girl's shoulder. "I suggest we split into three teams, with one member of each equipped with a Pip-Boy for short-range communication."

"I'm with Mr. Wolf." Maria decreed. She held on to his robe to further prove her point.

"Then you two will be counted as one." Screaming-Eagle continued with a slight nod. "I have not yet recovered from the loss of my tail, so don't expect me to climb any stairs." She turned towards him. "Eyes-Of-Silver, if you don't mind, could you and Maria stay with me on the first floor?"

Eyes-Of-Silver limited his response to a nod. With a child and an injured, it was only reasonable for him to stay with them as the best-versed close-quarters fighter of the party – or the best-equipped against these machines, anyway.

"I'm taking Keram-Rei, then." Naeera said, nudging the battlemage's arm. She glanced towards Veronica apologetically. He saw the factitious nature of the gesture: she was hoping the two humans would go together, giving just enough emphasis to her words as to admit no reply. If it was to aid or to tease Phoenix, he wasn't sure. "Unless you, uh, wanted to go with him?"

"No offense, but I'd rather have another human covering my back." Veronica replied with a tight smile. He saw no second meaning behind it, just tension and a pinch of relief. Naeera, on the other hand, was mere inches away from gloating.

"Then we're good to go." Phoenix announced (inching ever-so-slightly towards Veronica), rested a hand on the handle and opened the wooden door inwardly. As soon as she took a peek inside, though, the shock on her face was plain for all of them to see. She paled moments before turning away, taking a deep breath and walking back in again.

Yes, the smell of barely-commenced decay, blood, ruptured flesh… corpses.

"Close your eyes, Maria." Eyes-Of-Silver whispered to the little girl, who immediately complied. Although he had no way of feeling it, he was certain she had tightened her grip on his tail. He carefully entered the building, where he and the other Argonians discarded their robes on an ancient wooden desk to their immediate left. A skeleton seemed almost happy to have them leave their cloaks there, as dusty as the rest of the building in which he or she had once worked.

To their right, he counted six corpses in different states of dismemberment. One was relatively intact, save for a burn mark on her chest. Blood didn't pool from her body, indicating the wound had been… cauterized. He raised a brow at the thought, before moving on to the others.

Cuts were commonplace amongst them, as were missing limbs, more burn marks and, in a few cases, severe burns that were no doubt connected to the blackened walls nearby. A bulky man had his belly torn open, leaving the smell of his insides for them to bear. They all shared filthy skin and grubby leather armours, decorated with animal skulls, human jaws, small brass objects he'd learned to call 'casings' and other worthless rubbish. Dead for no more than a day. They were all massed against a door and a small, wall-mounted… terminal, that was the word.

Amongst the more-or-less plain expressions of disgust on the others' faces, ranging from Screaming-Eagle's slightly wider eyes to Phoenix's incessant coughing, Maria had been (along with him) the only one not to be fazed: she hadn't flinched, she hadn't gagged, she hadn't even ranted about the smell.

"Yup, definitely Fiends." Veronica shrugged, her robe's gorget pulled over her mouth and nose. She didn't even spare the corpses a glance, as if they were nothing more than dead dogs on the side of the road – and as far as he was concerned, they may very well have been dead dogs.

"Raiders?" Eyes-Of-Silver asked, not even expecting an answer.

"Raiders." Keram-Rei snorted. He shook his head and sighed. "Fiends. Worst of the worst, or so they tell me. Drug addicts, murderers, rapists, and general psychopaths."

Dead dogs held an insurmountably higher position in the hierarchy of things he couldn't care less about, then. These were scum, a waste of resources – much like the Forsworn, the various bandit clans around Skyrim or, to make a more recent but certainly valid example, the Legion.

Lifting his eyes from the carnage, Eyes-Of-Silver saw the centuries of grime that had accumulated on the floor, on the walls, on the ceiling. Flakes of paint, dust, cobwebs, broken items… he wondered what sort of maintenance those robots on the outside had performed.

His attention, however, was soon taken by an object in the middle of the room. It had been put up for display and set under a flickering, artificial yellowish light cast from the ceiling. It had once been the colour of silver, with red stripes drawn on its body. Now it was devoured by rust, with only traces of its original paint showing. It had two backswept pairs of wings; one larger, near the middle, while the other was smaller, near the end of it like an arrow's fletchings. Despite its odd bulk, he had to admit the thing had quite the sleek appearance. It reminded him of a projectile from this world's gunpowder weapons.

It also had a blatantly phallic form, but he left those thoughts to Naeera.

"Any idea where the stairs are?" Naeera asked, looking around as though she hadn't seen the complete and utter abandon of this place.

"Behind the locked door, I bet this floor is just a visitor attraction." Veronica answered as she jerked his thumb towards the terminal, which glowed an unhealthy green. "The rest of the building must be offices."

"Wait, wait… why are we scavenging an office building?" Keram-Rei asked with a frown. "I thought this was supposed to be a research facility of sorts."

Veronica gave him an eloquent shrug and went for the terminal, wading through the corpses. "Hey, you never know what you're going to find in a place like this."

"Can't wait to discover priceless trash, then." Naeera remarked, audibly bored as Veronica furiously tapped her fingers on the keys. "At least tell us how long it will take you to-"

A gleeful bleep coming from Veronica's terminal interrupted her, along with the sound of a door's lock opening. Veronica tore her hands from the keyboard and gestured vaguely at the door. "How does 'now' sound?"

"Sounds great." Phoenix said as she nodded appreciatively, maybe a little too enthusiastic.

Naeera growled and opened the door, with everyone else falling in line behind her. Keram-Rei was the last to enter. Just before closing the door, he turned around and gravely looked at him, then at Screaming-Eagle. Without a word, he vanished into the other room.

Eyes-Of-Silver raised a brow. Did he want him to protect her, or to talk to her? The concern and worry coming from his body odour, expression and posture suggested the former, while the hesitancy in his movements spoke of the latter.

"Let us move." Screaming-Eagle grunted at his side. "I am starting to grow weary of the smell."

"What is it?" Maria asked aloud. She wasn't disgusted, rather… unwillingly curious. "I know it, but can't really remember what it is."

Screaming-Eagle looked over to him, her mouth twisted in a grimace. Her eyes were helplessly staring into his, and it looked as though she both demanded an answer and wished to remain oblivious at the same time.

Eyes-Of-Silver sighed in response, dropped to a crouch and adjusted a strand of Maria's hair with a delicacy almost impossible for his size and bulk. Her expression wasn't as troubled as he'd expected it to be; only puzzlement appeared on her face. Innocent, and yet marked by her time under the Legion. There was no going around it. "These are dead men, Maria."

Screaming-Eagle may have very well choked at the bluntness of his statement.

"Oh." The little girl managed, before she gave him one nod. "I… I've seen dead people."

"Blood of Dagon!" Screaming-Eagle hissed, appalled. "She is _eight years old_!"

"Then you may open your eyes." Eyes-Of-Silver breathed, ignoring Screaming-Eagle's response. He wasn't as shocked as the mage. He had been expecting it, truth be told. "Just… do not look at them for too long."

In a moment, two big blue orbs looked up at him, accompanied by a faint, hesitant smile. "I won't."

Eyes-Of-Silver gave her a warm smile of his own; although it bared his fangs, it made the child's one widen. He rose back to his full height and scanned the room for threats, before a thought struck him. "May I suggest a guided tour of the structure?"

* * *

Keram-Rei stopped right before the corner, sword gripped tight in his hand. Lightning cracked softly between his fingers. Dust coated the corridors and offices he wandered into, covering the broken tiles and the flaked wallpaper that formed the hallway behind him in a fine layer of gray-yellow grains. Doors made of rotten wood hung from their hinges, leading into small rooms littered with shattered desks and rusted cabinets. Surprisingly, light still functioned, taking off part of the sheer eeriness this place seemed to radiate.

_Hold on. Listen._

He grunted in acknowledgement when he heard a Mr. Handy approach. Even though he hadn't seen it, he knew it would be smaller than the others, slightly better-maintained than the others, with larger eyes than the others, and he knew what it would ask him. It drew closer and closer, the engine whirring in near-silence as it moved – unlike the larger, more powerful ones of the regular maintenance robots.

He saw a tiny flamethrower emerge from the corner.

His left fingers snatched the steel limb the weapon was attached to and held fast. Before it could fire, blue electricity arced across the robot's arm, and soon spread to its chassis. It crashed into the ground as the engine malfunctioned, spasming and clattering as it went, before smoke rose from its joints and its eye sensors cracked. The Mr. Handy stopped moving abruptly, signal it… it hadn't died, since it hadn't possessed a life to begin with. It deactivated, yes.

Still, he knew these things could only identify a threat by sight; sound hardly mattered to them. They could hear, sure, but the limited machines only recognized gunshots or screams as signs of imminent danger. It was perfectly safe to do anything else, since they would have probably recognized it as employees having a heated argument.

"All clear, Naeera?" Keram-Rei called out, loud enough to be heard around most of the floor.

Seconds passed. He waited, drumming his fingers against his Pip-Boy. Had she even heard him, or had something happened?

Ancient papers rustled behind him. He spun around, sword in hand, only to meet the eyes of a small rat. It was white, its fur was sparse, and it curiously cocked its head towards him from the pile of rubble it had claimed for itself. He sighed and shook his head.

Something touched his shoulder.

Keram-Rei let out a startled yelp and thrust his elbow backwards. It only met the wall, and an electrical jolt of pain shot to his fingertips and his shoulder.

Naeera burst into laughter.

_You're a fucking joke, Keram-Rei. Really._

He narrowed his eyes on her small, lithe form as she leaned against the wall and held her belly. Every little movement did interesting things to draw his attention to her curves, highlighted by the tight-fitting armor she wore…

Keram-Rei shook his head and scowled into her golden eyes, sheathing his sword as he did that and massaging his aching arm. "Fuck you, Naeera."

Naeera started laughing again.

"You should've seen your _face_!" She giggled, barely breathing. She wiped a tear out of her eye and rotated her shoulders, her motion noncommittal and swift. "Anyway, I've found little going around. Just a few dumb robots, a skeleton closed in the custodian's utility room, and a hole in the ground."

Keram-Rei frowned. "What do you mean by 'hole in the ground'?"

Naeera didn't reply. Instead, she thrust a hand into a pouch she held on her right hip and got out a handful of small beige cylinders… microfusion cells? Strange. She must have had no idea what they did, and none of them had any energy weapons to use them on.

Until the thief took a plasma rifle out of the same pouch.

It was unlike anything his memories had ever seen. Whereas most, if not all plasma weapons employed by the U.S. Army were gray and brown, this had been bright red; now it had mostly faded to fire brick. Various tubes and coils sprouted from both the body and the long, sharp barrel, the latter gleaming the glowing green of primed plasma. She was holding the weapon atrociously, but it in no way ruined its… beauty.

_It's real nice all right, and it looks powerful. Not something I'd use over some blood, of course._

"Like it?" Naeera asked, tilting her head to one side and flashing him a smug grin. "I've found the little things next to it, figured they'd be useful."

"Don't know how to use it, but yeah, I like it." Keram-Rei replied with a satisfied nod and a smile of his own. "Good job with the cells, too. We should bring it to Phoenix or Veronica as soon as they're back. Now, how long do you think-"

He stopped mid-sentence. Something was wrong, something was… coming closer.

Naeera had already vanished before he turned to warn her, leaving him alone to handle things. It was the second time in two days – why did he always have to deal with possible threats approaching? It was starting to become ridiculous. As the sound of a pulse engine came closer, however, he limited himself to a shake of his head and readied another spell. He'd already encountered three bots, four with this one. How many maintenance robots did this place _need_?

A damaged Mr. Handy appeared over the wreckage of its smaller cousin. It was much more battered and rusty than the others, with a great part of its internal hardware exposed. One of its utility arms missed its protective cover, while another had been severed at the height of the first joint. It looked down, grunted in puzzlement, and lifted its two remaining eyes to meet Keram-Rei's. "Oh, hello there. Would you happen to know what happened to this particular unit?"

Keram-Rei's grip on his sword loosened a bit, but he held the spell at ready. This one was pretty unusual, and had an accent very similar to that of Eyes-Of-Silver – but it was no reason to trust it. "Uhm… no."

"Ah, curses." The Mr. Handy muttered under its breath (was it even possible to say that?), then mimicked a shrug with its arms. "Oh, well, I suppose a malfunction was to be expected in an old fellow like Humphrey here. Worked himself to death." It shook its whole chassis as if shaking its head and presented its pincer claw. "Oh, but where are my manners? I am Jasper, at your disposal."

"Erm… pleasure's mine." Keram-Rei breathed as he shook its… 'hand'. His spiked brows were set in a deep frown as he nodded uncertainly. "I'm Keram-Rei."

Jasper shook his hand with vigorous enthusiasm. "It has been a long, long time since I last met anyone friendly, Mr. Keram-Rei, sir." It said cheerfully, then focused its eyes with a whir, as if squinting. "I have to say, this is the first time I have met someone with such an astonishingly well-made costume, too. Tell me, is it based on some comic? Grognak the Barbarian, perhaps?"

"The Pirate King, I liked the character." Keram-Rei tried after a short pause. From what little his stolen memories suggested, that comic was ridiculous at best, and cringeworthy at worst. There had been something on a jungle of… bat-babies? Bah. He supposed he could have thrown Deathbrand in and it wouldn't have made a difference.

"Yes, yes, I remember that issue!" Jasper proudly replied, trying to snap his claws at the thought. "The evil, twisted Pirate King with twin scimitars and an armour made of enchanted ice! A true masterpiece, that one. I wonder what happened to his treasure, though."

Keram-Rei blinked.

Well, that was… unexpected.

_Buddy, that's… wrong. This is some really weird shit, I'm telling you._

He rolled his eyes. _You don't say?_

_No, I mean – seriously! How the fuck did the people over at Hubris comics come up with _Deathbrand_, of all people and wild fantasies?_

Naeera hummed thoughtfully from behind him, accompanied by the sound of her daggers being sheathed. "This one's… different."

Jasper closed and opened its eye-covers in something that vaguely resembled a blink. "And where did _you_ come from, ma'am – or should I call you… Lady _Nightingale_?"

"What?" Naeera breathed, before quickly shaking her head and meeting Keram-Rei's wary glance. "Oh, yeah, yeah, of course. Cost me a lot of time and effort to make."

_This isn't right. And you know things have to be terribly wrong for me to say that._

Keram-Rei's only reply a pensive grunt. Something _was_ wrong.

"So, what brings two Man-Saurians dressed as other dastardly villains here at REPCONN?" Jasper asked them. Despite their bewildered expressions, it sounded extremely cheerful. "I was hoping for some news. It's been more than two centuries since the last visit, and I'm programmed to stay inside the building to provide assistance until further order. What I can see from the windows isn't exactly encouraging, either." It dragged its claw between two of the eyes with an ungodly lament of metal and… was it scratching its head in _puzzlement_? "Tell me, did I miss something?"

Keram-Rei opened his mouth to answer, but no sound came. He looked over at Naeera, who gave him a very similar look, and then back at Jasper. "There's been a nuclear war about two hundred and four years ago, Jasper. It's… the world's a wasteland."

"Oh no…" Jasper floated back a little, shaking its whole body in what could only be denial. Its eyes were low, but were nonetheless raised to look at him. "My, oh my… a-a nuclear war, you say?"

Keram-Rei nodded gravely. It might have been a machine, but… he felt sorry for the thing. For all its metal and rust, Jasper sounded dreadfully _human_. It was a prerogative of the later Mr. Handy models to provide this sort of advanced feedback and interface, true, but the knowledge it was artificial didn't make it any less sad. "Yeah, it's… horrible." Hesitantly, he cupped an hand under one of its eyes and glanced into it. "Hey, look at the bright side: there's survivors. There's people out there, in Vegas and in a whole lot of other places, too. Humanity has been rebuilding."

Jasper's eyes perked up at the notion of human life. "Oh, really?"

"Yeah, sure, where do you think we come from?" Naeera inquired with a raised brow and a grin.

"Ha, yes!" Jasper laughed enthusiastically, doing a little dance with its arms and bobbing in place. "Yes, at least my fears haven't come true and I'm not alone with my taciturn friends until I malfunction! Things tend to get _very_ boring around them, you know?"

"So why don't you come with us?" Keram-Rei asked without even thinking. He bit his tongue at Naeera's glare.

"Oh, I would like to, believe me, but I have my duties." Jasper sighed wistfully. "Besides, I am not one for travelling – I prefer helping clean a home or an office, I'm more helpful that way." It looked at them expectantly. "Unless you happen to have a house?"

"No luck, we're pretty much nomads." Naeera told him with a false grimace. She reached out and patted its chassis. "Sorry, Jasper."

"Don't worry, ma'am." Jasper chuckled. "I have endured more than two hundred years alone, I think I can wait some more. Besides, it warms my power supply to see there's at least two fans of Grognak still around."

Keram-Rei shrugged a shoulder, suppressing a smile. "Listen, we've got to wait for a couple of friends anyway. Why don't you stay with us until they come back?"

"Really?" Jasper chirped, incredulous, before it waggled as it laughed. "I mean, sure, of course!"

* * *

The place wasn't terrible for a small exposition aimed mainly towards children. Granted, it wasn't in great shape, but what remained of it was fairly fascinating. There were useful, if maybe terribly manipulated snippets of information and explanations under every exposed item, and the tour guide had proved to be very exhaustive. They had passed a room dedicated to nuclear materials and plasma, then another one used to show the great achievement of space flight and the various prototypes that had made modern 'rockets' possible (however it was that they had achieved flight in the first place), and finally one that had a series of curious-looking robots mounted on pedestals. There was an orrery just attached to it, too, with a replica of the Solar System in dazzling colours.

A real shame it had all been blown to shreds.

Eyes-Of-Silver grunted as he tore his axe free from the last sentry bot. It was a bulky thing that barely reached his groin, but which might have nonetheless been enough to dispatch a century. Its right arm housed a rapid-fire laser, while its left one came equipped with a missile launcher – all topped with a ridiculously thick armour plating and a booming monotone voice. Now, however, the robot fell over from its treaded wheels and crashed into the wall, moving the dust around and ripping through what little wallpaper was left there.

He inhaled a lungful of smoke, heated metal and fine dust particles. Not so strong as the smell of sweat and blood that came on every battlefield, but intense nonetheless. He turned around to see a dog-sized hole in the wall next to the entrance, caused by a stray missile. There were similar signs of damage seemingly at random around this room and the adjacent ones, along with tracks of black, sizzling marks where the lasers had hit. All the robots on display were now nothing more than melted husks – the Mr. Handy in particular reminded him of a burnt-out candle – not unlike their defense counterparts. The small doors through which they had come to fight were clearly visible on the walls. Their tour guide was still blurting out error messages in the orrery. Its voice, however, became more feeble with each one.

The attack had begun almost as soon as they had entered the first exhibit. Then, it was just a constant combination of aiming low, avoiding Screaming-Eagle's bolts of lightning, and trying not to be hit by the missiles. True, his Dragonbone chestplate had been no match for a small, low-yield warhead, but it still hurt like Oblivion – and he couldn't get past the smell of burned scales. He suspected a severe burn underneath. Maybe he would ask the mage for help later.

Speaking of whom, he saw the gleaming blue dome of her shield still standing. Screaming-Eagle stood firm and straight, her legs wide open, her fingers clenched tightly against her unique staff. Maria, on the other hand, was leaning heavily against the mage's right leg, holding it with all her strength and her eyes closed. No matter her age and size, she had desperately wanted to help.

The slightly puzzled look on Screaming-Eagle's face confirmed that.

The reason for her shock was plain to see. Her barrier had formed perhaps a bit too strong, and now drew a perfect line about an inch wide and five deep through the old, grey tiles. As for the sentries she had hit, a pure blue-white fire was eating away at their armour, which now ran molten in small droplets that hissed the moment they hit the ground. One of them propped against a wall exploded in a bright purple fireball; he guessed those were the missiles stored inside.

Eyes-Of-Silver unclasped the clamps that held his axes together and held them apart, then set them into the straps on his back in their usual crossed position. He grinned as he gazed over the perplexed female, then at the scared child.

Maria dared open an eye and glanced up and around, taking in the destruction with an uncertain pout. "Did I… did I help?"

"Ah… yes, it… appears so." Screaming-Eagle answered and blinked before she undid the spell. The shield vanished with a gust of heated air and dust. A lightbulb shattered at contact with the small blast. She glanced down and narrowed her eyes, her lips parted slightly. "How did you…"

"I just wanted to help." Maria interrupted her as she let go of Screaming-Eagle's leg, reaffirming what she had said mere moments after the first wave of sentries. She tilted her head a little with both her eyebrows raised. "Did I do good?"

"You were fundamental in aiding Screaming-Eagle consolidate her defensive and offensive capabilities, yes." Eyes-Of-Silver answered, beaming. The child answered with a smile of her own as he gazed to the mage. "So, any cogitation on the current state of things?"

"My first answer would be a snort and an impolite grunt of disbelief." Screaming-Eagle murmured distractedly, dropping onto a knee to better observe Maria. "My second one would be denial and amusement. My third and fourth would be questions, however." She stared intently into the child's eyes, scowling in concentration. "Why, and how?"

Maria whined uneasily and took a step back, but the mage gently took her head in her hands and stopped her. "Uhm, what are you talking about?"

"You." Eyes-Of-Silver and Screaming-Eagle answered in uniform; the first proud, the second baffled.

"Absurd…" Screaming-Eagle muttered, a hand over Maria's heart as though to check her pulse. The little girl tried to shy away, only to be firmly put back in place an instant later.

"Perfectly understandable." Eyes-Of-Silver sighed with a shrug. Screaming-Eagle's reaction had been fairly amusing at first; now, however, her reluctance to overcome the shock had grown tiresome. "Nirn is not, as someone would say, the Divines' 'special snowflake'. Perhaps it already existed here."

"Or perhaps you should think about what you are saying and remember there have _never_ been any reports of anything similar here." Screaming-Eagle snorted with a face. She picked a strand of red hair and held it before her eyes to better examine it, all while Maria had simply surrendered to the fact there was no getting around the mage's curiosity. She was surly staring at him, as if it were his fault that this was happening and he hadn't rescued her from Screaming-Eagle's pedantic claws.

"None that we know of." Eyes-Of-Silver corrected her with a grin, giving the little girl a noncommittal shrug and a chuckle. "Do you not believe that perhaps some things such as this might have… slipped by, in a large and chaotic world such as the one Earth once was? You surely know the humans' previous numbers better than I do. The same goes for their society, development, events, and so on and so forth." He spread his palms out. "Perhaps such news were manipulated or erased."

"That…" Screaming-Eagle began through gritted teeth, then hummed, nodded and raised a brow as she held Maria's eye open with her fingers. "Well, that actually makes sense. Still, I simply find it nigh-impossible to believe."

"Mr. Wolf…" Maria called again, letting her annoyance seep into her voice and expression. "What's wrong?"

"Oh, nothing is wrong, my dear…" Screaming-Eagle chuckled in amazement, with no intention of leaving the little girl be. "No, no, it's the opposite in fact."

Maria frowned deeply. Any emotion other than curiosity (and worry, perhaps) instantly evaporated from her mind and posture. "What do you mean?"

"She means you are perfectly fine in all regards, Maria." Eyes-Of-Silver reassured her and smiled, idly tapping his fingers on a wrecked sentry bot to the rhythm of 'The Age of Aggression'. "Only, she has just found out you are… special, yes."

"Special doesn't even come _close_ to it…" Screaming-Eagle whispered in awe. Finally, she let go of her patient and rose to her feet, dusting her robes as she did so. Her small grin didn't escape him, however. "I… I have never seen anyone like her in my entire life. The sheer potential…"

"Come on, what is it?" Maria huffed, visibly excited now. She was shifting her weight on feet and nervously twiddling her long hair. "I want to know!"

Eyes-Of-Silver picked four sets of footsteps descending the upper floor's stairs and shook his head. "Be patient now, Maria. Let us wait for the others to have everyone know, yes?"

"Okay." Maria said with a nod of assent; her impatience showed through every little motion, every glance, every noise, every smell. She was dying to know what they had discovered - and with good reason, too.

The moments between Maria's last word and the rest of the party's arrival were spent in silence, whilst he, the little girl and Screaming-Eagle reached for the entrance – noticing the actual scale of the damage wrought by their little skirmish with the sentries. He hadn't expected the souvenir shop to have been blocked off by rubble, for example, or how some of the sentry bots had exploded after being destroyed. Well, after he had seen the one before it wasn't as unexpected, but… Gods above, automatons that had rushed against them with the might of an army had simply turned into pools of burning, fused metal.

Eyes-Of-Silver limited himself to a shake of his head. It displeased him how this place had turned into an assortment of molten metal, small craters, smoking burn marks and occasional fires. But then again, was there really anyone interested in visiting the REPCONN Headquarters anymore? Did anyone even know what REPCONN was?

Well, he for one hadn't the faintest idea.

"Ah, Screaming-Eagle?" Eyes-Of-Silver called, gaining the mage's attention. "Do you happen to know what 'REPCONN' stands for?"

"REPCONN…" Screaming-Eagle murmured and closed her eyes in focus. After a second, she opened them back and nodded. "REPCONN Aerospace: Rocket Engineering and Production Company of Nevada. It was specialized in rocket manufacture for the U.S. Government, and mainly known for the great potential its experiments and advancements showed. There is also a REPCONN test site, a ways south of here."

Eyes-Of-Silver raised a brow. Interesting information, sure, but she had spoken as if consulting a library. His head turned around, taking in the old rocket model near the entrance, the ancient, rotten desk and the gray-brown walls and ceiling. Light seeped through the double door's cracked windows, catching and showing all the little dust particles that drifted into the sun's rays.

He was going to ask how she had organized those memories later. He smelled and heard the other four members of their party finally leave the stairs and walk the hallway that led them back to the exit. He hadn't actually seen it, but if he wasn't mistaken, they would come out at about…

… The time Keram-Rei opened the door and politely nodded at them, kicked a corpse away with extreme prejudice to clean the way and stepped aside for Naeera, Phoenix and Veronica to enter the entrance hall.

The two young women instantly hit him as different. Although no other human or Argonian might have seen it, their movements were tenser, hastier, more careful – their scent gave him the same feeling. Now he had the absolute certainty Veronica was hiding something; whatever that something was, Phoenix had probably been tasked with keeping the secret. Who knew what they had found on the last floor for them to behave like this. Evidently something important enough not to be shared with their defenders.

Or perhaps they had just mated. Hmm, no, they didn't quite match the description for two satisfied females… no, they were simply being nervous and cautious. Still, the thought was something worth mulling over.

"So, found anything interesting?" Veronica inquired with a smile. It was a bit too wide, and a bit too stretched. Imperfect, but only to the expert eye. She was apparently used to lying. "The third floor was empty, apart from a couple of Mr. Handies."

Good as she may be, he knew it was false. They had found something and they had no intention of sharing their discoveries.

"Oh, we got something all right." Naeera smugly proclaimed, grinning, and winked an eye. She thrust both hands in a satchel he hadn't noticed she was carrying at the hip, and when she took them out she was holding a… well, a weapon, that was for sure. Red metal made up most of its frame, and glowing green goo – plasma, as he'd learned – flowed through reinforced glass on its front half.

As Veronica snatched it from Naeera's hands to examine it, Keram-Rei cleared his throat and nodded. "A plasma rifle, I'd say a prototype of sorts. We've got microfusion cells to go with it." He smirked. "A _lot_ of microfusion cells."

"This thing's… _great_!" Veronica exclaimed as soon as she was done, perhaps her first sincere words and smile. She then reluctantly parted from the weapon to give it back to Naeera and looked at Eyes-Of-Silver, Screaming-Eagle and then at Maria. "What about you? Anything new, aside from…" She stood on the tips of her toes to look behind them, whistled and settled back on her feet. "Destroying the kid's exposition?"

"Yeah!" Maria piped up, thrilled. "Mr. Wolf and Eagle say I'm special!"

_That_ got their attention. Eyes-Of-Silver grinned on instinct.

Keram-Rei narrowed his eyes on him, his lips pursed, his spiked brows knitted in a slight frown. "What do you mean with 'special', exactly?"

"Think of the most amazing thing that comes to your mind, Keram-Rei." Screaming-Eagle began, the shadow of a smile starting to creep in on her face. "Think of the most incredible, unbelievable, impossible image you can picture in your mind. Think of your wildest fantasy realized in _her_."

Keram-Rei blinked in confusion. He eyed Maria, but swiftly closed his eyes and shook his head violently. "Gods, gah… for fuck's sake, she's _eight_." He made a little disgusted sound and grimaced. "That's wrong, just… wrong."

Eyes-Of-Silver barked a laugh, whereas Screaming-Eagle simply frowned. "No, no, you have comically missed the point, Keram-Rei… not that Screaming-Eagle's words might have aided in the matter, either. No, we are _not_ talking about what you are thinking, rest assured." He raised a brow, his grin fading to a sneer. "Although one has to wonder what exactly your idea of 'amazing' would be."

"None of your business." Keram-Rei growled through gritted teeth, about as menacing as an embarassed pup to him. "So, what is it?"

Phoenix nudged Veronica's side in the smallest motion possible, while her other hand covered her mouth. "This is gonna be good."

Screaming-Eagle turned towards him, fingers busy tapping on her staff. Quite unsurprisingly, her eyes were set in an impatient scowl. "Do I say it as the expert, or do you as her…"

"Best friend." Maria patiently provided. Screaming-Eagle gave a nod of her head in acknowledgement.

"Well, I suppose there is no going around it." Eyes-Of-Silver said, then cleared his throat and smiled. "Ladies and gentleman, Maria has an innate magical talent of unseen proportions."

Stunned silence met his words. Keram-Rei's jaw might have fallen off in a matter of second, whereas Naeera's eyes were wide enough for him to see the webs of veins dancing at the sides of her golden orbs. Veronica's face had lost all expression. Phoenix, instead, was the epitome of confusion, a mix of all of the others' expressions.

"As of now, we have no idea of the sheer scale of her power." He continued, then turned to the little girl in question and met her staring blue eyes. Her little mouth hung open, while her eyebrows were lost somewhere under her hair. "You may undergo training with Screaming-Eagle and Keram-Rei, if you wish so. 'Tis all up to you, nobody can force you to practise your talent against your own will." He bared his fangs to the rest of the assemblage, growling the next words. "I shall ensure your choice is respected."

Maria kept staring at him, wide-eyed and shocked, and motioned for him to kneel. He did so, and brought his ear to her mouth. "M-Mr. Wolf, did… did you just say I can… _do magic_?"

"That is what I have said, yes." Eyes-Of-Silver replied in a hushed whisper. "What do you think, Maria?"

"I'm scared of training, but I don't want to just pretend I don't have magic." She confessed, her voice trembling. All of her fragility seemed to show up at once; she didn't know what to do. "Will… will it be like Legion training?"

"Oh, of course not!" He answered firmly with an instinctive frown. "If that were the case, they most certainly would not have been my friends. Screaming-Eagle may try to push you, true, but I believe Keram-Rei will keep her at bay." He chuckled. "Besides, I will still be here, along with Naeera, Phoenix and Veronica. You are not going to part from us."

Maria let out a shaky sigh of relief and placed a small kiss on his right cheek, then pulled back to look into his eyes and gave him a firm nod. He grinned encouragingly at her, rising back to his full height.

"I'm gonna train with you." Maria declared, causing Screaming-Eagle to mask a giggle and Keram-Rei to mask a groan. "I wanna learn magic, and I wanna learn to read and write."

"Excellent!" Screaming-Eagle exclaimed, excited. It looked odd on a mage so serious as her, what with the childish smile, the sparkling eyes and the raised feathers. "We will begin as soon as we reach New Vegas. Any questions?"

Keram-Rei sighed in exhasperation, audible only to himself as his hands covered his entire face. "Why do_ I_ have to teach a kid?"


	15. Fiends

A hot wind blew through the ruins, whispering through the nooks and crannies of the ancient houses and shops. The afternoon sun was slightly less unforgiving than it had been during the rest of the day, and shadows were gradually creeping through the streets. Still, there was no sign of relief from the simmering heat, and there wouldn't be for hours more.

Screaming-Eagle, however, was barely paying attention to it under her sky-blue robe. Thrilled as she was to have a student of her own, there was very little capable of bothering her right now. Keram-Rei hadn't seemed nearly as excited as she had in the beginning, but after a whispered word from Eyes-Of-Silver he had changed his mind. The rest of the party was mostly focused on the way to New Vegas and avoiding the wrecks that choked the streets – except for Veronica, who occasionally glanced back to try and grasp something in the way theoretical applications of magic.

Maria, in the meantime, looked up to her with one of her quizzical looks, thin brows knitted in a frown and mouth slightly open. "Uh… what's ice?"

"Although the entire family of frost spells has an extremely wide array of applications, it mostly focuses on ice, as we have already said." Screaming-Eagle happily explained, dismissing the girl's growing confusion. "Now, we know water has three states – gaseous, liquid and solid. Whereas gaseous water is a vapour found in the form of both steam and clouds, and liquid water is simply water, ice is its solid form. We may find it in low-temperature environments, such as thundras, glaciers or mountain peaks, and-"

"You've found a way to confuse her with basic Destruction…" Keram-Rei interrupted her, then put a hand under his heavy robes and took out a small flask of water. He showed it to Maria. "Look, this is water. It's liquid, right?"

Maria gave him a nod, definitely more interested in the battlemage's overly-simplistic explanation. Screaming-Eagle shot him a harsh glance, but he didn't even notice her. Hard to do, given the robes and cowls they wore.

Keram-Rei cupped his free hand under the flask's bottom. In the blink of an eye, a pale blue glow radiated from the tips of his fingers, covering the glass's surface in a thin coating of frost. He shook it a little to show how the ice inside couldn't move and handed it to Maria. "That's ice. It's solid, and it's cold." He shrugged. "It's going to take a couple of minutes before it melts back to water."

"Ooooh…" Maria whispered, wide-eyed and awed by his ridiculous trick. Of course, it was to be expected from a child who had just discovered her power and was witnessing what she would one day be able to do.

Screaming-Eagle elbowed Keram-Rei's side and scowled at him, despite the fact he couldn't see her face. "Would you stop doing that?"

"Huh?" Keram-Rei grunted. The left part of his brown hood went up a bit, sign he'd raised a spiked brow. "Doing what? She's _our_ student, not yours."

"I was trying to teach her the theories that stand at the base of our magic!" Screaming-Eagle hissed. "How can she hope to master the arcane arts if she doesn't know why or how things happen?"

Keram-Rei raised a hand in a disarming gesture and nodded. "You're right, Screaming-Eagle, but… isn't she supposed to _understand_ what you're saying in order to learn?"

Screaming-Eagle rolled her eyes, huffing, and opened her mouth to answer. Then, and only then, she noticed he might have had a point and pursed her lips.

"She isn't a genius, she's just a kid." Keram-Rei continued, his expression invisible in the shadows of his cowl. "We've got to teach her the basics. Focus, will, mustering her magicka, things of the sort. Right now, she's only a source of power with no real way of using it." He paused a little, perhaps to smile. "Besides, I'd say she must learn to read first and _then_ teach her the theories, eh?"

"I suppose you're right." Screaming-Eagle sighed. Admitting her defeat wasn't nearly as easy as she'd thought it would be, but she guessed a measure of modesty couldn't hurt. "Perhaps I am getting a little ahead of myself."

Keram-Rei chuckled, something that was bound to be accompanied by his obnoxious grin. She was just glad she couldn't see it. "Just a little?"

Screaming-Eagle limited her reply to a grunt and a shake of her head. _Don't fall into his little games, Screaming-Eagle._ She told to herself. Why would he gain amusement from her irritation, she did not know – what she did know, though, was that he was going to be disappointed.

It was then she noticed a tiny hand pulling at hers, and glanced down to look at Maria's wide eyes and expectant smile. It could only mean a long series of questions was coming. "Can you shoot fireballs?"

"Of course we can." Screaming-Eagle chuckled. "Fire is the first element Destruction mages master. Gouts of flames, fire bolts, fireballs… they are the rawest and most effective spells, favoured by most for their simplicity and the relatively low expense of energy they require."

"But don't think for a second they're the worst spells around." Keram-Rei quickly added. There was a hint of wounded pride in his voice; come to think of it, the only time she had seen him fight he had used a measly frost spike amongst his more potent fire spells. "It's all a matter of focusing your energy into the kind of magic you want to use."

Screaming-Eagle suppressed a smirk and bit back a comment while he continued his explanation. Was his poor focus the reason he carried around that sword, to resort to close-quarters combat as the quickest route? No, it didn't seem the case. He was an above-average spellcaster and, despite her ignorance in the matter, he appeared to be a fairly swift swordsman. He had employed a technique that allowed him to use both – not quite excelling in either, but certainly making himself a threat.

Of course, she could have deflected his spells and knocked him unconscious with but a wisp of her power, and Eyes-Of-Silver could have simply swatted him aside like a fly. Not to mention, Naeera could have probably robbed him blind in the instant it took him to notice the whore was nowhere to be seen. It seemed unlikely he had managed to slay the Son of Akatosh, and yet he had. His strength lay elsewhere, she was sure of it. No being with the power to vanquish a godling could be dismissed so easily as an idiot… well, perhaps the other three Dragonborn could afford to underestimate him. Anyone else? It would have been a fatal mistake.

Besides… what of the thing lurking inside of him? She had once felt the ancient spirit brush against her mind, a dark and nauseous sensation that threatened to make her retch. Did it – _he_ aid the battlemage in any way? Did he act as his guardian, or as his corruptor? What was Keram-Rei's response to him, apart from hatred? Such a thing would have its advantages, a repository of vast and forbidden knowledge only waiting to be embraced. What of the price, however?

Screaming-Eagle dismissed the gloomy thoughts with an unnoticeable shake of her head, and focused back on him and the child. He appeared to be more comfortable with her than before, and certainly more enthusiastic to teach her – although she suspected it was because of the mage's forced proximity. True, his help in explaining Maria the basics was appreciated, but she might have only needed a couple of hints from the little girl to make things clearer and simpler for her to understand.

With a sigh, she decided she was going to have words with Eyes-Of-Silver about the _true_ reasons behind this choice; as of now, she could only be satisfied with the child's natural curiosity.

"You can turn invisible, too?" Maria breathed her question with a mix of awe and challenge, aided by her faint smile of disbelief. "And nobody can hear you or see you?"

"Absolutely no one." Keram-Rei proudly replied. "I was never found by anyone with that spell."

"Yet you fail to conceal yourself from the vast majority of wildlife, I reckon?" Eyes-Of-Silver prodded him, failing to hide his amusement. "Tell me, does this Illusion spell of yours delete traces of scent, heat or, heavens forbid, substance?"

"There is little reason to hide from beasts, they only follow their instincts, after all." Screaming-Eagle came to Keram-Rei's aid, earning a thankful nod. "Sapients are the cause of concern, not animals. The latter may be fooled in other ways, and are not as insidious." She grinned. "I have yet to see a wolf carrying a battle-axe."

"True enough, true enough." Eyes-Of-Silver chuckled at her answer. "I apologize for any inconvenience my sideswipe might have caused."

Before Keram-Rei could grumble one of his idiotic remarks, thunder cracked and echoed throughout the empty streets, met by distant cries. They all froze and tensed. The only one foolish enough to look up at the sky was Naeera.

"The fuck?" The thief muttered, perplexed, as another roar filled the air. "The sky's clear."

In the time it took Phoenix to embrace her rifle, Screaming-Eagle saw the others' reactions. Maria instinctively shifted closer to Eyes-Of-Silver, whose head was now held high to catch the scent for him to follow. Veronica giggled and grinned to herself, flexing the fingers of her right hand with little pressurized hisses, whereas Keram-Rei unsheathed his sword and readied a fire spell between his left fingers.

Screaming-Eagle turned towards Naeera and shook her head. "It was no thunder, fool."

"Then what was it?" Naeera snapped back. Irritation seemed to hide her fear of the growing noise.

"Gunfire." They replied in unison, except for Maria, who remained silent, and Eyes-Of-Silver.

The werewolf carefully took his axes from under his robe and set them together with a series of clacks. He then pointed to his right, rotated his shoulders, and let out a soft chuckle. "It appears to be more raider scum – and _alive_, this time."

"How many of them are there?" Screaming-Eagle inquired, her staff ready in her hands. "Are they fighting among themselves?"

"Oh, enough for a good fight to be had, that is certain." Eyes-Of-Silver purred, every inch of the predator he was coming to surface at each shot. "As for your first question… no, they are fighting against clean blood. They are in great advantage." He turned towards them. "They are not far. Shall we intervene?"

"The only sort of 'clean blood' hanging around here are tourists heading to New Vegas and NCR soldiers." Phoenix said as she got to his side, checking the breech of her weapon. "The Fiends are going to swarm them."

"What are we waiting for, then?" Keram-Rei snapped. "We're going to be killing Fiends and saving better people than the fuckers."

"Onwards!" Eyes-Of-Silver roared, his axe held high.

They broke into a sprint through the wrecks and shattered bricks of the city to reach the raging fight. Eyes-Of-Silver showed a grace and speed unthinkable for his size, keeping ahead of Naeera's nimble form and Keram-Rei's enchanted armor. Phoenix and Veronica appeared to be used to the streets, however.

Screaming-Eagle watched them run, her knuckles popping as she clenched her grip in outrage. Had they suddenly forgotten she had lost her _tail_? Walking fast without the aid of her instrument was hard enough, but running was outright impossible! Maria probably had a better chance of dashing through the ruins than she had - and she was standing at her side.

"Eagle?" Maria called her with a sour face. "Why did they leave us like this?"

In response, Screaming-Eagle sighed and took the child's hand. "We will ask them later. Come on now." She cocked her head towards the others. "We may reach them in a few minutes, if I manage to hobble fast enough."

* * *

Screaming-Eagle was impressed at Maria's dutiful silence. She supposed it was one more quality that made her stand out from most children; the little girl had immediately understood the danger they were into, wandering all alone through raider territory and without any knowledge of the streets. The sounds of the fight were much closer now, though there was no trace of magic being used. Judging by the frenzied cries of the Fiends and the artificial thunder of rifles, not one of them had joined in. No screams of fear, no flames, no booming laughter, no howls… well, no wolf's howls, at any rate – the Fiends sounded as savage as they could possibly get. The smell of blood and sweat was in the air. Screaming-Eagle grimaced instinctively at the familiar tang. It didn't take a werewolf to take _that_ in.

She pulled Maria's hand to make her step up a bit. They couldn't afford to stop here, almost blocked by an overturned trailer truck and a collapsed shop. The space they could use to walk was tight, between two rows of rusty wrecks – and even then, broken-down motorcycles cut their way half of the time. Sidewalks were out of question: facades had crumbled and spilled as far as to reach the cars' wheels, the tires long gone now.

Screaming-Eagle looked around, just to make sure the rest of them had actually come this way. No signs on the cars, impossible to tell on the sidewalks, nothing on the asphalt. There was no concrete way of telling… that was, until she saw the bent metal of the truck trailer's side (which was now its roof) and four diagonal, parallel tears into the metal. Eyes-Of-Silver had climbed on it. The others must have followed him on the tiny slopes of shattered bricks - those were going to be just perfect for her to pass, thanks to a balance to rival that of a toddler.

Oh, _joy_.

With a groan, she squeezed through two bumpers and finally got to the right edge of the street. She stared at her natural enemy with undisguised hatred. The mound was barely three feet high, consisting of broken stone, rusted pipes and pulverized glass, and its sides were about as gentle as could be.

She let go of Maria's hand and took hold of her staff with her right hand, the left one looking for support onto the trailer's rolling shutter. Her first step was met by an unstable brick. It shook as soon as her foot touched it, moving back and forth, back and forth at the slightest pressure. She closed her eyes, steeled herself and moved on with her right foot.

She slipped and fell flat on her ass.

Screaming-Eagle suppressed a howl of rage as she aided herself to her feet, fuming. She gripped the staff in both hands and swung it against a nearby lamppost. It bent slightly, the impromptu weapon's strike managing a deep dent into the old pole.

"I hate this!" She snarled at nobody, her fists balled against the clear, sunny afternoon skies. "Why is losing my tail be this hard to cope with?!" She hit the rocks twice, her teeth bared in frustration. "Damn it! Damn this world to Oblivion!"

"Aren't you a mage?" Maria asked behind her. She let out a long breath and ran a hand through her feathers to calm down a little. _Focus._

"Excuse me?" Screaming-Eagle replied in the most neutral way she could. It came out closer to a growl.

"I said, aren't you a mage?" The child repeated. Her tiny frown and curious tone were utterly unruffled by her hissy fit. "Can't you fly over it?"

Screaming-Eagle blinked and pursed her lips, then gave a little nod. Had she been a human or a Mer, she would have blushed violently in sudden embarassment; with her scales and her head's conformation, though, it only looked like she had remembered something – that was, if the shadows of her cowl would have made her visage visible. She cleared her throat and gave a more decisive nod. "Yes, there is a… levitation spell, actually. It is fairly uncommon, however, and I have to admit, it wouldn't have been my first choice."

"Then why didn't you just… blast that stuff away with some wind?" Maria continued, confused. "You could make some stairs with the stones, or you could take a piece of metal and put it over them, or-"

"_I get it_, Maria." Screaming-Eagle grated through gritted teeth and a forced smile. She didn't need a second Keram-Rei. "Thank you."

She cursed at herself under her breath as she held the staff before her. The levitation spell was one she hadn't excercised in years, and she didn't want to risk it. She traced the Yokudan symbol for 'Blast', maybe harshly enough for it to pass for 'Detonate', and pointed the tip against the small mound.

The pebbles exploded into the truck and the adjacent building, crashing against metal and stone with an infernal din. To her, it felt as though a dozen warriors in steel plate had jumped off the roof of a nearby house and into the truck. She winced at the cacophony, which died down after about five seconds of the rocks bouncing up and down.

She cast a wary glance towards Maria, only to be met by a deep scowl and folded arms. That, despite the growing unease at being embarassed twice in front of her student, was hardly the worst part.

The fight had come to an abrupt end. Not only that: apparently, she had been so close to the battle that she could hear the footsteps of the Fiends. Needless to say, there were more than she cared to count.

Screaming-Eagle let out an exhasperated sigh. "Julianos, give me the strength…" She looked over her shoulder. "Maria, stay close. And for the love of the Gods, keep your eyes closed at all times."

As soon as the little girl pressed her weight against her mage's leg, she pondered it for a moment and held her staff with the left. For Maria's sake, this had to be swift and painless; it was one thing for her to have seen corpses, it was another to see someone dying before her innocent eyes. Screaming-Eagle's first, mechanical motion was to set up an iridescent shield strong enough to both deflect bullets and thrown weapons and hold the Fiends out. She couldn't afford to keep it open in hope the others came. Her second action was to draw the symbol for 'Fire'.

She was tempted to revert to her roots and use common Destruction magic to affect a wide area. A few fireballs and continued flame spells could have both scared and heavily damaged the Fiends, but she dismissed the thought with an imperceptible shake of her head. Yokudan magic left much more room to her imagination, after all. This, helped by the fact her staff was a catalyst for her will, cemented her mind on the matter at hand.

The first signal the Fiends had noticed her was a holler so fierce and savage it barely sounded human at all. What could have been an army replied with another, no less bestial cry. Screaming-Eagle all but faltered, then viciously planted her staff into the asphalt and answered with a low growl of her own. The Forsworn never did anything even remotely that animalistic before a fight; who _were_ these people, if they could still be called so?

When they charged, she decided the name 'Fiends' perfectly described them.

Ragged, wretched men and women emerged and ran towards her from the sidewalks, while others climbed up the crashed truck, and more yet sprung from the alleys between the collapsed buildings. They all shared the same digusting filth covering them, the same torn armors of tires and leather and the same broken lead pipes, splintered pool cues or dull knives. Precious little among them carried guns, and what few did only had rusted hunting rifles or poorly-maintained laser weapons. All of them, however, had explosives of one kind or the other strapped to them.

What revolted her the most was the stench that hung around them. She could only begin to guess how many years of grime, dried blood and human waste had taken to make them smell worse than rotting corpses. Their eyes, bloodshot and insane, were all fixed on her and Maria. They were devoid of anything other than rage and bloodlust, and the way these raiders slammed against her shield and viciously pounded against it planted the smallest seed of horror at the thought of it failing. Screaming-Eagle shook her head vigorously and redoubled her efforts, making her barrier flare and sending out heat to make them fall back.

They didn't flinch nor scream in pain.

She was shocked to see that, even as their skin seared and sizzled on their hands, arms and faces, the Fiends simply did not let go of her shield. More and more of them poured out from the road as she tried to hold them back, seemingly adding to the growing fury of the crowd. They howled lunatically at her, some wordless hoots of frustrated rage, others threats and promises of ungodly pain.

A snarl bubbled from Screaming-Eagle's chest as she swept her right hand in contemptuous, murderous hatred. The first row of Fiends burst into flames, flesh popping and charring along with armors and weapons. Yet, even as their hideous ornaments melted and fused to their dying forms, they still did not let go. The one right in front of her, a wiry woman who had been entirely engulfed in fire, ripped something from her side with a shriek of defiance, brought it to her mouth and tore it away.

Screaming-Eagle's eyes widened in shock.

The grenade's blast hammered at her shield, followed by a series of dynamite sticks and other explosives as more and more emulated their comrade's example. She staggered a step back with every deflagration, stunned in equal measure by the sheer energy she had to face and by the reckless abandon with which those… _fiends_ killed themselves only to quench their bloodthirst.

Limbs, viscera and blood splattered and rained all around her, much to her discomfort and much to the other raiders' glee. The shouts had grown stronger now - and if she let her Magicka flow any way other than towards her defense, her barrier might have fallen apart. She could not have asked Maria for help, the little girl couldn't have used all that power again in such a short time, she would have fallen unconscious at best, or… she dared not think of the other possibilities.

"Arkay spit on your broken bodies, you soulless fiends!" Screaming-Eagle squawked at the maddened horde, her hooded face twisted in revulsion and rage. It was the first time in years since she had felt this impotent. Just _where_ were those idiots? What were they waiting for? These monsters were trampling their own just to get a chance at battering her shield.

It was then she noticed Maria was sobbing quietly against her robes. The child held her head pressed hard against her side, and it infuriated her not to be able to caress her hair, lest she broke her focus and doomed them both. She could hold out, but it was the only thing she could do. Those savages, Gods knew what sort of drugs they had used, were not going to tire until only after her shield had failed.

If she ever got out of there alive, the first thing she was going to do was beating all of her party senseless and shove her staff…

Her train of thought derailed the instant a howl, so deep and feral as to make her innards shake and her bones tremble, resonated through the afternoon air. It would have made any sane man run for his life, although most of the Fiends ignored it outright, hell-bent as they were on their prey. The few that did raise their eyes started shooting wildly at the roofs.

Screaming-Eagle, however, sighed in relief, followed shortly by Maria. The child's fearful sobs had stopped the very moment the beast had announced itself.

A mass of crimson launched itself from the rooftops to her right. Despite the dreadful cacophony assaulting her eardrums, the sound of snapping bones and the wet squelch of torn flesh was crystal clear to her as he landed – already he had made victims. The figure rose well above the tallest Fiends' heads, who barely reached his sternum. When the rest of the raiders had finally noticed him, he tore his robe from his shoulder, revealing white scales, ivory armor and black metal.

"Come at me, you bloody wankers!" Eyes-Of-Silver roared, his battleaxe firm in his grip and his fangs bared in a savage smile. "I'm gonna tear all of you bastards to shreds!"

Screaming-Eagle blinked in dismay.

Was this Eyes-Of-Silver?

"Who is it?" Maria asked, her eyes still closed. "Is it Mr. Wolf?"

His jolly, booming laughter answered her. He began to reap the raiders like wheat, his weapon a deadly scythe carved from the bone of mighty Dragons. He slashed through flesh and bone like paper, each and every blow met by an enraged snarl and copious spurts of blood as limbs parted from their bodies and heads rolled. In turn, what few blows reached him merely bounced off his Dragonbone plate, as thick as a tank's armor and twice as resilient.

What disturbed her wasn't the sheer number of men and women he casually slaughtered, nor the Fiends constantly running towards him, heedless of his monstrous force; it was his amusement at every death.

Bullets and laser beams hissed past him and into the crowd, the army of maniacs screamed and thrashed and tried to reach out to kill him, corpses steadily piled at his feet, and all he did was laugh. The more entrails and blood he spilled, the more exhilarated he became. He made it look and feel like a game.

"Sod off, you fucking nob!" He snarled in rage when a raider managed a lucky hit and snapped one of the spikes on his head. He grabbed the boy who'd struck him with his mechanical hand, snapped his neck with a jerk of his wrist and threw him back into the raving horde. "Now you're _pissing me off_!"

Eyes-Of-Silver let out an ear-splitting warcry and charged.

Screaming-Eagle, able to move more freely now that the werewolf had drawn the Fiends' attention to himself, tore her eyes from the gleeful carnage. She caught a glimpse of shining blue armor in a broken doorframe to her left, next to the truck's crashed cab. She turned her head to see Keram-Rei grin to himself – none of the raiders had even noticed him, taken as they were by a shimmering dome of light and an inhuman warrior carving a bloody swathe through their ranks.

He chuckled and stared at the mass of psychopaths standing between him and Eyes-Of-Silver. Then, his lips curled in his usual arrogant grin and he massaged his jaw a little. He murmured something to himself before closing his eyes. When he reopened them, his expression had turned from cockiness to something she hadn't ever seen on him.

Determination.

"_KRII LUN AUS!_"

Every single one of the Fiends staggered a couple of steps as his dreadful words hit them as a wave of weakness and frailty. Their weapons cracked, and the leather of their clothing flaked. Their skin paled, and their muscles enfeebled, their drug-induced frenzy dimmed. Some of them tripped and were crushed under the boots of their comrades, while others stubbornly continued their advance and let out high-pitched screams, which soon turned to angered groans. Most focused on the new threat, shouting and running towards him with the certainty to overcome a minor obstacle such as him.

Keram-Rei rotated his shoulders and loosened his neck, then drew his jagged Dragonbone sword from its scabbard. His lips peeled back from his teeth in a snarl, and his eyes narrowed to slits as fire crackled between his fingernails.

"_SU GRAH DUN!_"

The first Fiend's head was severed in a heartbeat and a rush of air. The battlemage became a blur Screaming-Eagle could only follow through the bodies left in his wake, each kill perfect and clean – nothing like his fight in the Vault. Still the raiders came on, and still he met them with ease. He moved and struck with the speed of a viper, the blade his lethal fang, the fire his deadly poison. Men and women died with each movement, their hearts pierced or their bodies burned to a cinder.

Screaming-Eagle felt her jaw drop and her eyes widen. She had only gotten similar results with the Mark of Death through extreme concentration and immense effort; and even then, it had taken half an hour before mustering enough of her will to Shout again without dropping to the floor. Keram-Rei had Shouted with little to no preparation beforehand and had widely exceeded her own results.

Twice.

"JUST DIE ALREADY, YOU FUCKING TWATS!" Eyes-Of-Silver howled, completely shattering her thoughts with the sheer brutality of his voice. "_FUS RO DAH!_"

A blast of pure energy and wrath slammed into her shield, and nearly made her lose her footing. A few seconds after she'd strengthened her barrier, mauled corpses crashed into it like a tidal wave. Bones shattered on impact, tearing through the weakened muscles and skin, blood spurting and washing over the solid wall Magicka. Some of the bodies writhed as they still tried to fight. A bulky man had an arm he still managed to move. He hooted a cry of challenge as the werewolf got closer and took a glowing green grenade from his hip.

Screaming-Eagle snorted and put an ice shiv through his skull. It cracked satisfyingly, the brains and ichor freezing instantly. It was fairly useless on her part to try and keep it clean, considering the massacre, but…

"Appreciate it!" Eyes-Of-Silver exclaimed, smiling amiably and showing his impressive, bloodstained fangs. The near-entirety of his armor and face was ruby-colored, festooned with giblets and gore. "Cheers!"

Screaming-Eagle gave a weak nod of acknowledgement, still marvelled at his sudden change. Minutes before he had been so educated, so calm, so very likeable… and now he'd turned into something that made Keram-Rei look like the King of Argonia in comparison. This Eyes-Of-Silver was a savage, ruthless beast that crushed Fiends underfoot like insects, spat out profanities like no tomorrow and enjoyed the endless bloodshed of his slaughter with joy.

It was then she noticed the screams and howls had died down. She took her cowl off (there was little point in keeping it when the others had already exposed themselves) and swallowed down bile.

Everything had been painted red.

Broken bodies lay strewn on the street, over the wrecks, into the buildings. Blood covered everything up to the ground floor of the nearby homes in a uniform layer of crimson, with the occasional brown-green spot where the raiders had been eviscerated or shorn in half. Arms and legs rested far from their owners, some of whom still breathed and mewled in constant agony. The only circle of clean rust and dust was within the confines of her shield, fifteen feet of circumference untouched by the carnage.

This wasn't a battlefield, this… this was an abattoir.

Eyes-Of-Silver's chuckle shook her into motion again. He had just crossed his twin axes on his back, and was examining the top half of a young boy; his eyes were glassy and his mouth open in a silent scream. "Balls, that was piss easy. They fell like sacks of spuds!"

Screaming-Eagle fought not to throw up. The scent had worsened infinitely, a mix of filth and blood and entrails and _death_ she was going to remember for her entire life. "Maria, Gods, don't… don't open your eyes."

She felt the little girl's grip loosen on her robe. "Why? We're safe, Mr. Wolf and-"

"Just keep them closed!" Screaming-Eagle ordered. "I'll tell you when you can open them, okay?"

"Screaming-Eagle, are you quite all right?" Eyes-Of-Silver called, failing to keep a little worry out of his voice. "Have you never been on a field of battle before?"

"My most dreadful battle was a far cry from this…" Screaming-Eagle managed to say. The wrong sight, even the wrong word, threatened to make her vomit everything she had eaten, starting with her dinner. "I… I can't even… by the Gods, they were _humans_, not animals…"

"Oh, trust me, I believe animals hold a much greater honour than these howling lunatics." Eyes-Of-Silver said with utmost conviction and a smile that failed to look encouraging to her. "You saw how they fought… bloody Oblivion, they were under the influence of so many substances they could not even feel pain."

"Did they even realize who they were fighting?" Screaming-Eagle continued, heedless of his words. Her eyes swept over the entire scene, and she saw corpses belonging to grown men and women… and barely more than boys and girls. "I… did they know what was happening to them? They might have been too scared to show their fear, they could have seen me as a monster, or as a demon, or… or…"

"Whatever their perception of this battle was, they were perfectly self-conscious when they consumed their drugs and turned into this." Eyes-Of-Silver growled. There was no pity in his voice, and his eyes were like ice. "As such, they are to be held responsible for their actions. They deserve no mercy."

Screaming-Eagle raised her eyes to meet his, took in a deep breath and nodded weakly. This was neither the place nor the time to talk about it. Later, perhaps, but not now.

"Sorry for making you wait, by the way." Keram-Rei added. She turned, and saw him mildly tired; his grin was a little worn, his eyelids a bit lower. He shook his head and blinked the fatigue away. "Naeera, Phoenix and Veronica insisted to stay with the other people. We've saved some NCR soldiers. Looked like snipers, from a distance."

Screaming-Eagle raised a brow in doubt. "How can you be so sure?"

"Long-barrelled scoped weapons." Eyes-Of-Silver shrugged a shoulder. "They were most certainly not a power-armoured unit."

Screaming-Eagle's eyes widened at the mention of scopes, and she looked down. Good, her robe was still on, but theirs… "Are they coming? You should put on your cloak, or-"

"Relax, Eyes-Of-Silver heard they're hunting the leader." Keram-Rei waved her off. "Some psycho bandit called Nine Toes. Creepy mask, spikes everywhere, bare-chested... they said he's got two armored dogs and an SMG with a pair of knives strapped to it."

"This one was but a minor band of Fiends." Eyes-Of-Silver continued. "A certain 'Bone Head' has been recently killed by one of these snipers… Mordecai, I believe was his name."

Screaming-Eagle did nothing, careful not to ever take her eyes off either of the two. A single glance around might have made her find another disemboweled corpse. She lightly tapped her fingers on her staff and cleared her throat. "Can we go now that the fight is over?"

Keram-Rei nodded once and motioned for Eyes-Of-Silver to take Maria. The child let out a delighted giggle when the werewolf nimbly picked her and nestled her like an infant, soaking her little dress in gore and disappearing beyond the truck and into the street beyond.

Screaming-Eagle followed in the battlemage's exact same steps, never glancing under his shoulders. She shuddered the moment her right foot crushed something squishy and foul-smelling, but only quickened her pace. The sooner she got away from the corpses, the better. At least she had cleared the rubble from the sidewalks, even though _that_ was what had caused the Fiends to be slaughtered before her eyes in the first place.

She sighed in relief when red vanished from her sight. The reek of massacre still haunted her nostrils, though she doubted she would've stopped smelling it for a week, but at least there were no bodyparts she might have tripped over or any blood threatening to make her slip. It was an ancient, ruined street of an ancient, ruined city once again – and surprisingly free of abandoned vehicles. Maybe the truck crash had blocked the traffic for quite some time prior to the nuclear detonations.

Two other peculiar things about the place were Eyes-Of-Silver standing still as a statue with Maria at his side and a man in NCR fatigues taking careful steps towards them.

"I suggest you make no sudden movements, or any movements at all, for that matter." Eyes-Of-Silver suggested through gritted teeth. He both looked and sounded furious. Not as much as before, but still furious. "There are rifles aimed exactly between the eyes of each of us."

Screaming-Eagle glared at Keram-Rei, who averted his eyes and pretended to ignore her. "A short-lived hunt, it seems." She snorted and clenched her jaw. "Right, Keram-Rei?"

"I didn't think they would get Nine Toes this quick…" Keram-Rei mumbled in his defense. "I mean, we're talking about a raider boss here!"

"We're also talking about _snipers_!" Screaming-Eagle hissed back, her feathers bristling. The thought beating him senseless suddenly became extremely appealing to her, weren't it for the immediate termination that would have followed. She supposed living was a better alternative to dying with immense satisfaction.

"Quiet, you two!" Eyes-Of-Silver barked. He had not turned around to bare his fangs at them, yet the authority in his voice made them fall silent at once. "Of all the times and places to bicker, do you two earnestly believe an argument under mortal threat is a good idea? Silence!"

Screaming-Eagle growled out at Keram-Rei and kept her glare on him. Who knew, perhaps a very, very hard bump on the head might have actually fixed his stupidity.

Before she decided to test her theory there and then, she focused on the soldier closing in. He... wasn't a man, so much as a boy. His wisp of chestnut hair was partly covered by a crimson beret, and his light brown eyes were shielded behind rectangular, black-trimmed eyeglasses. He was shaved clean – although it could have been so because it was too early for any actual beard to grow. Other than that, he looked every bit as suspicious and incredulous as Phoenix had been. Well, perhaps tending more towards 'disbelieving' than 'frightened'. They hadn't ambushed him, after all.

His build was somewhere between athletic and wiry, and his standard-issue uniform fit him rather well. Strange, for a soldier. She immediately noticed the hilt of a tactical knife on his thigh and the holster at his hip. His most evident weapon was his sniper rifle: a matte sand weapon that reminded her very much of the few images she had of an assault rifle, save for the bipod and the large scope. He carried it at ease across his chest, with the sort of assurance that came with knowing someone had his back covered. There was an etching on the butt of the weapon.

'LONG AND HARD'.

Screaming-Eagle frowned as Keram-Rei snickered. Was it supposed to be funny, or was she missing something?

"Hello, uhm… whatever it is you are. And kid." He spoke once he got close enough to be heard clearly. The unease in his expression touched his voice, but not so much as to make it shake. "I'm Corporal Frank Stazzone, First Recon. We are thankful for saving our lives, and for destroying Nine Toes' band." He took their details in and grimaced, sighing. "Sadly, we are to escort you to Camp McCarran."

Her frown deepened. Wasn't McCarran an international airport?

"And we are to be your 'honoured guests'." Eyes-Of-Silver spat out, followed by a snort, the sound more akin to an angered bull than anything else. "Truly a curious way to show gratitude you have."

The Corporal's brain stopped working for a moment at Eyes-Of-Silver's tone and teeth. Then he swallowed and managed a shrug, his face a little paler than before. "I-I… look, I'm just following orders here. You've got to come with us to McCarran, that's the word from the Lieutenant. There's nothing I can do about it. Orders are orders."

Screaming-Eagle raised a brow in curiosity, fighting back a smirk. Young, scared, and reluctant to carry out his orders? No wonder he had been chosen to talk to them: he had probably been the first to rant about his officer's decision.

Keram-Rei shrugged and held his hands up. "Well, just to show you it's all in good faith: we could kill you without you even noticing, but we aren't going to do it. We'll be nice and come with you." He grinned. "How does that sound?"

The Corporal let out a long sigh, nodded in acknowledgement (and what might have been thanks) and turned around, motioning for them to follow. "This way."

Screaming-Eagle raised her hands in a peaceful gesture, falling in step behind Eyes-Of-Silver, who appeared to have been placated enough by Keram-Rei's answer and Maria's proximity not to be openly hostile, and Keram-Rei. She curiously glanced up, towards the roofs of the buildings. Who knew where the snipers were? She imagined in the abandoned cinema about two hundred feet in front of her, at the T-junction, or inside either of the adjacent shops.

She only then noticed the raider corpses left out on the open street. They weren't as many as the ones the males had torn apart or incinerated, no more than a dozen at any rate, but as they walked she saw each of them had a neat bullet hole into their heads, never on the rest of the body. Each one had fallen from a hit in the forehead, or temple, though she spotted a few missing the right eye. Whoever these First Recon were, they were excellent marksmen; taking insane, erratic, moving targets down only with headshots was no small feat.

The car wrecks began with the next street, a broader avenue that housed twice as many vehicles and some more Fiend corpses, limp against fenders or wheels, holes drilled neatly into their heads. This place wasn't as ruined as the other street, although she immediately saw the cinema doors had been, after the raider attack, all but torn from their hinges. The Corporal gestured for them to stop to the right of a Nuka Cola van, and they obliged.

In a few seconds, she began to see familiar faces. The first to exit from the blackness of the movie theater was Naeera, bereft of her green cloak, her hands raised and her oh-so-lovely visage deformed by undiluted wrath. Behind her came Phoenix, fairly enraged but not as much as the thief, and Veronica, who simply wore the bored expression of someone used to this sort of things.

After them a short-haired blonde woman exited the building, dressed in the same uniform and beret as the Corporal and wielding a scoped hunting rifle. A disgusted grimace donned her face and, although her eyes were veiled by sunglasses, it wasn't hard to imagine them narrowed in Naeera's direction. Two dark-skinned young men followed her, both with their rifles slung to their backs. One of them wore a face wrap and eyeglasses, making his eyes the only thing not covered about him; the other's face was perfectly visible instead. He had a black goatee, and his only expression was a faint scowl.

Just when she thought that was the entirety of the First Recon an old black man limped outside of the cinema. Unlike the others, who sported a red beret marked by a stitched insignia, he wore a brown hat she had only seen in ancient pictures of park rangers, complete with a small golden badge upon it. He carried a much older rifle than the others', something belonging in a western holomovie, judging by the overall shape of the weapon. His hair was white as snow, and a hundred wrinkles decorated his face – especially around the eyes.

Also, he had to possess the most impressive and well-groomed mustache she had ever seen.

They all closed the distance to the Nuka Cola truck in the longest seconds of her life, both sides wary of their surroundings and of their company.

"There are two more sharpshooters behind us, one to our left and one to our right." Eyes-Of-Silver whispered. He paused for a moment. "Do not turn, I cannot assure their intentions are as friendly as they seem."

Screaming-Eagle stiffened at the sound of two rifles being cocked at either side of them. _Calm down, there is no reason to be afraid._ She told herself, sighing and relaxing. They were all just being cautious there. On one hand, her party had accepted to come along to avoid further complications; on the other, First Recon hadn't the faintest idea what they were dealing with or what had just happened.

The figure from the left came into view. He was a nondescript, dark-haired man in his late thirties. He reminded her of one praefect under her command, a certain… Aetius, if she wasn't mistaken. The same sharp eyes from which no detail could escape, the same businesslike appearance when under stress, even the same pursed lips when carefully choosing his words – as this man almost certainly was right now.

The soldier cleared his throat and shouldered his rifle. "Well, we certainly didn't expect someone like you to show up and save us." He bowed his head slightly. "I'm Lieutenant Gorobets, CO of the First Recon, and I have to thank you. I doubt my team would have made it out alive."

"Then why the fuck are you keeping us prisoners?" Naeera snarled, her words coming out of her gritted teeth.

"Put simply, we don't trust you." The Lieutenant neutrally stated. A… fairly blunt statement at that. "We've never seen any intelligent lifeforms that either weren't, or weren't derived from, humans. You are no humans – you're reptiles." He snorted, although it wasn't exactly aimed at them. "Most people here would sooner sell their own mothers if it meant surviving for another minute, and yet _you_ came here and saved us – from the Fiends." His eyes narrowed. "You gained nothing from this, other than risk and possible harm. Why do it?"

"You know, hard as it may be to think for someone living in a fucked-up place like this, we aren't dicks." Keram-Rei chuckled. A large, amused grin split his face. "Things work differently from where we come from."

The Lieutenant raised a brow, cautious not to show any emotion other than detached curiosity. "And _where_ do you come from?"

"It's… a long story." Screaming-Eagle finally sighed, adding the realization of their detainment to her sore arms. An interrogation, _of course_. What else could it be from military personnel? "I would rather talk about it between the walls of your base." She raised her own brow in return. "You wanted to 'escort' us there, didn't you?"

Lieutenant Gorobets exchanged an indecipherable glance with the men (and woman) under his command. Most of them nodded, the woman and the man with the goatee grunted something, but ultimately gave a sign of agreement. The Lieutenant looked back towards them with narrowed eyes. "Before we go, just one question: what _are_ you?"

Screaming-Eagle actually smirked at the question, her raised brow keeping its position. "If you are looking for the easy, vaguely plausible answer, we are sapient deathclaws."

A few of the snipers snorted at her pathetic ruse. Evidently, they had seen a deathclaw before – whatever a deathclaw was, at any rate.

"If not, as I see you are…" Screaming-Eagle continued. "We are Argonians, and explaining that to you would be part of the long story you, and I presume your commanding officers, are going to hear at the base."


	16. Camp McCarran

Keram-Rei tiredly marched throughout the steadily-emptying streets of what had once been a residential district. The closer the First Recon men led them to their base, the closer the run-down vehicles had been moved to the houses – or into their yards. Someone had probably pushed them from the road to clear the way for… whomever used it, anyway. There was absolutely nobody around apart from them. No NCR patrols, no civilians, no Fiends. He guessed the latter were responsible for it.

_And who's responsible for being a dumbass, huh?_

He sighed and shook his head. The snipers might have exchanged it for a reaction to the ruined buildings, or to their capture. In truth, it was just exhasperation. Not only did his feet feel leaden and his tail numb, he had to endure _him_.

_You know, I'm not going to talk about how many Fiends you killed quickly and painlessly – it was a fucking waste anyway – but really, _why_? Why did you even allow these cocksuckers to take you? There were so many ways to deal with them, and you just _had_ to go for 'hurr durr, we're good so we'll follow you'. I mean, honestly._

_Shut up already, Treads-In-Gloom._ Keram-Rei mentally snarled. _It was the best thing to do. If you have anything else to say, then make sure it's useful before speaking._

_How many times have you been captured… pardon me, 'detained' by these NCR assholes already? Two? Not to mention the Hoover Dam Lodge, of course. Fucking mortars…_

_Treads-In-Gloom… _Keram-Rei's call echoed inside his his mind. He almost let his grin show at the solution. _Pip-Boy._

Silence ensued.

He all but sighed in relief. Being calm about a well-masked arrest was one thing; being calm about a well-masked arrest with Treads-In-Gloom's constant droning as he tried to regain his strengths was another entirely. One would have thought the centuries had made him wise, but he figured that exclusively applied to decent people.

"We're almost there." Lieutenant Gorobets announced from his leading position, flanked only by Sergeant… Bitter-Root, yes. The rest of First Recon had decided to follow behind their prisoners – and well clear of Eyes-Of-Silver's tail. The big guy had done absolutely nothing, but it didn't take a genius to figure a metal tail about five feet long was as effective as a sledgehammer when it came to cracking skulls open.

Keram-Rei took in a deep breath and focused on the issue at hand, past the effort he'd put in his little stunt against the Fiends. Right. He had been captured, and he was being brought to a military base in which he held no authority and whose occupants might have only been described as a hostile. The few friendly faces around him belonged to people he had met the day before. His advantages would have been blotted out by the number of his foes, if things got ugly. He doubted he was going to use any serious spells before long. Best of all, there was no turning back.

It reminded him so much of home.

Speaking of homes: the low prefab buildings of rotten wood gave way to a sandy stretch of open space, interrupted only by a long road snaking its way through the flat landscape. It took Keram-Rei a moment to take in the sheer number of wrecks into the parking lot beyond. Some hundred feet in front of them, the sunset lit the metal husks of dozens upon dozens of abandoned cars of all shapes and sizes piled and crushed upon each other. None of the streets he had seen before were this choked. The boulevard that circled it, though, was devoid of any abandoned vehicles.

To the junkyard's left a monstrous building rose from the ground. It had once been dark red and white, with six or seven grooves scarring its sides and confirming its nature as _another_ parking, but now most of its paint had been torn away by the abrasive combination of sand and wind. It rivalled Castle Dour in size, and towered over it in height. Only, the latter was the Mede Empire's main fortress in Skyrim, this thing was only supposed to house cars. Why would have anyone even _needed_ that much space?

Most important of all, why would have anyone built metal walls all around it and its twin edifice, standing far behind it and connected by a covered bridge? Even from this distance, he could perfectly see and imagine what sort of materials had been employed in building those 'defenses'. Scrap, automobiles, billboards, fences, trailers, buses, he even spotted a railroad car or two in that gods-awful mishmash of random steel.

There was no order, no calculation, no geometry, no study behind their construction. They were just a ragged army's ramparts for their fortress – a salvaged airport turned into an improvised military base. Still, he could see it bustled with activity, although the noise and numbers were put to shame by what he had heard when far from the Legion encampment. Unlike the camp, though, he heard and recognized the low grumble of motors.

Curiously, there were no planes he could see, except for the keeled-over behemoths of rust way behind the fences and the parking spaces.

"Is that Camp McCarran?" Screaming-Eagle inquired in confusion. "The main base of the New California Republic in Nevada?"

"This is not supposed to be a frontline base, like Hoover Dam or like Camp Forlorn Hope." Lieutenant Gorobets calmly replied, without ever turning. "This is the logistics center of the Republic. We take care of relationships with Vegas, the distribution of supplies and forces, and we house the research and development detachment from California."

_It sucks anyway. It looks bad, it feels bad, it sounds bad, and I'm sure it smells worse._

There wasn't much he could say to that.

"It ain't so bad when you've grown used to it." The elderly sniper said, perhaps in reply to Screaming-Eagle. The battlemage glanced over his shoulder to look at his memorable mustache. What was he called again?

_Sterling. His name's Sterling._

He grunted appreciatively. _Thanks._

"You can't possibly be serious about it!" Naeera snorted derisively. She let out a high-pitched little laugh that sounded every last bit factitious, then topped it with a breathless gasp and a twitch of her tail. "Oh, come on, you live a castle of junk and shit?! Some great army you are."

"Naeera, you're not helping." Keram-Rei admonished the thief, who was smiling smugly towards the only woman in the sniper team. "Don't make things any worse than they already are."

"Or?" Naeera prodded him. She tilted her head in the seething sniper's direction. "It's not like they can shoot us or anything. Right, Corporal Betsy?"

The Corporal growled and cracked her knuckles in response. Naeera's smile turned into a narrow-eyed glare.

_Think they'll start fighting any time soon?_

_Unlikely._ Keram-Rei dismissed him. _Naeera's not stupid, she knows a diplomatic incident is going to be bad for us._

_Hey, if you say so._

His gaze shifted back to the Lieutenant. Gorobets had taken a gray, brick-like thing the size of his fist in one hand and moved his thumb over a button on its side - a radio, it seemed. Then he motioned for them to stop and stay silent and flicked the switch on. "Great Eyrie, Great Eyrie, this is Eagle One, over."

Keram-Rei frowned in the brief instant of pause that followed. What… what in Oblivion was he talking about?

"The fish has been taken, but we have met bears by the river." Gorobets solemnly continued. "Two black bears, a cub and four polars. I repeat, _four polars_. We are South of the great tree and require a branch. This is a matter for Dragon and Tiger, over."

Keram-Rei gazed towards Corporal Stazzone and jerked a thumb towards the Lieutenant. "What is he saying?"

"He's contacting McCarran, stating the situation and what he needs." The Corporal hastily told him.

Keram-Rei blinked twice, then began to slowly bob his head in acknowledgement. It was a code. Smart thing, to make them all sound like hunting eagles. He couldn't deny it was pretty cool, too.

_Oh, for Sithis's… there's literally no enemy army using a radio, why the fuck would they need a radio code?_

He hesitated. That was… also true.

"Copy that, Great Eyrie, Eagle One will fly in circles by the great tree, over and out." The Lieutenant finally spoke into the radio, setting it back onto his hip. He turned around and looked at his 'guests' with a neutral expression. "A vehicle will be sent to our position shortly. First Recon will sit between the cab and the ramp, you will stay in the middle. The truck will bring us to the entrance of the terminal, where the four of you will be led to an reinforced interrogation room. The girls will wait with us."

Eyes-Of-Silver's knuckles popping sounded awfully similar to a pistol discharging. "Interrogation?"

"Interrogations weren't part of our agreement!" Phoenix picked up in outrage.

Gorobets held out a hand in apology as the distant rumble of an engine made itself heard. "These are our measures of containment. We don't know who you are, what you're capable of, and we've got to be as careful as possible."

Eyes-Of-Silver stared hard at the Lieutenant, the tips of his fangs bared. Then he set his jaw, narrowed his eyes and swung his tail in a low arc. "Fine. So be it, if it keeps you curs at ease."

Lieutenant Gorobets nodded appreciatevely and said nothing in response.

Keram-Rei couldn't help but let out another sigh of relief. Things could have gotten really, _really_ bad back there. Antagonizing a state that encompassed the entirety of California – and maybe more – wasn't something he was particularly looking forward to. Besides, having them as friends might have had its perks.

_Yeah, sure. For what? What are they going to be useful for?_

_You never know._ Keram-Rei replied pensively. _I've got a nasty feeling we're staying in the Mojave for a pretty long time._

_Oh well, that's just _great_! Except for the part where it isn't. You'd better find a way to get back to Nirn, I hate this place._

Keram-Rei rolled his eyes. _And how would I get back to Nirn?_

Treads-In-Gloom didn't reply.

After a minute or two passed in silence, an old army truck became visible further down the road. It was a blocky, heavy, ugly brown thing, and its engine roared louder than a Dragon. It kicked up a small cloud of dust in its wake, making the ground tremble as it neared. The driver halted the vehicle some thirty feet ahead of them, kept the engine on and swung the door open.

A nondescript man of average height, common build and who might have been anywhere between twenty-five and forty climbed down. He wore the same ragged desert tan uniform as First Recon, only… _more_ ruined, plus a helmet and goggles that covered a shock of sandy brown hair. Instead of the crossed bandoliers on his chest the snipers had, he instead carried a hardened leather chestpiece with the letters 'NCR' inscribed on it in white paint.

His first reaction was to take a step back, let out a long string of curses and fumble for the pistol at his hip.

"Easy, Banner." One of First Recon laughed. He had to be Mordecai, since Keram-Rei didn't recognize the voice. It was rough, and tinged with an accent he couldn't quite place.

_Keram-Rei, I can't even… you aren't from this world, how the fuck are you supposed to place an accent?!_

He refrained from slamming his palm against his snout.

The gaunt sniper gestured around to encompass all of the Dragonborn. "They won't bite you."

At that, Banner calmed down a bit and let go of his gun. His eyes didn't get any less wide, though. "Jesus Christ! What the fuck are those things?"

"'Those things' can express themselves, thank you very much." Screaming-Eagle snapped back indignantly.

That only added to the soldier's growing confusion.

"At ease, Private." Gorobets said with a minuscule hint of a groan. "We have found them during our mission. Your task is to bring us back to McCarran, so that we may know more about them, and _not_ to ask questions or stand slack-jawed." He jerked his chin towards the truck. "It's an order."

Private Banner managed an uncertain salute and stumbled back towards the vehicle, looking back at them every once in a while as if to make sure they were actually standing there.

The Lieutenant faced about, his visage back to the usual mask of neutrality. Without a word he cocked his head to point at the truck and started towards the cab's other seat.

Keram-Rei needed no further encouragement to reach for his seat. The rest of the party was some two steps behind him as he circled the vehicle, observing the sides with interest. Plates of steel a few shades of brown too light to be part of the original paintjob stood out against the raised bed and the doors, crudely welded to provide some form of armor. He hoped it would have been enough to stop bullets.

Although, come to think of it, the Fiends mostly used explosives.

He tried not to focus on that thought too much and hauled himself up into the flatbed, where two… he guessed wooden benches were attached to either side. His boots clanged on the floor twice before he dropped roughly in the middle of the seats to his right. He inched back a little to be as comfortable as he could manage, set his tail onto his lap and folded his arms across his chest. The vibrating planks were fairly easy to grow used to, however annoying that may be. Besides, he was _sitting._ After a fight like that, it was the least.

The truck slowly began to fill, first with the remainder of their assorted party, then with snipers. A vexed Phoenix plopped to his left with a grunt, while directly in front of him were Screaming-Eagle and Veronica. The world seemed to lower a couple of inches and smell intensely of blood the moment Eyes-Of-Silver set foot aboard the vehicle, drawing a few alarmed glances from the youngest snipers – who had been placed right next to the ramp. The werewolf grinned ever-so-slightly and carefully sat to his right. The benches creaked when he did so. Seeing someone with legs like his sit down was strange.

Bitter-Root bent forwards, gazed around and, once he was satisfied with whatever he was looking for, slammed his fist against the cab three times. The low grumble of the engine turned to a lazy snarl and the vibration intensified when the driver accelerated. Interesting. This thing was much heavier than a cart, and yet he knew it could reach speeds to rival a thoroughbread stallion.

A brief look around him was enough to notice that nobody cared about that little detail. Not Naeera nor Veronica to her right, not Maria, who had sat on Eyes-Of-Silver's lap – not even the big guy himself, and he should have been asking question on how things worked.

He gave him a furtive glance. There were patches of white Dragonbone here and there, mostly on his back, but the rest of him was drenched in drying ichor. The warrior's brutal profile alone might have been enough to make a power-armored team hesitate.

A quicksilver orb met his eyes and narrowed in annoyance.

"Would you please stop staring, Keram-Rei?" Eyes-Of-Silver grumbled distractedly. There was a rough edge to his voice and, even though he wasn't really looking his way, Keram-Rei had the funny feeling his _breath_ reeked of blood. "I cannot even begin fathom how you could possibly be bored in a tense moment such as this."

Keram-Rei rolled his eyes and rested his back against the flatbed.

_Hey, waitwaitwait - are you trying to avoid conversation with me?_

"Hey, Phoenix." Keram-Rei nudged the girl in the side, gaining her attention. "You know the NCR better than us. What do we have to expect?"

_Bastard._

"I'd say taxes, but I'm in no mood for joking." Phoenix grunted, peeved. Her scowl was half-hidden by her flailing hair, which all but whipped his eyes and spiked brows. "They're very thorough in their interrogations, and that's with normal people. You?" She chuckled bitterly. "We're leaving McCarran tomorrow night, if we're lucky."

Keram-Rei attempted not to groan in annoyance and miserably failed. Phoenix only let out another chuckle. He rubbed the heels of his palms against his eyes and left them there, closed for a little while, to think. He could understand a couple of hours, maybe staying there for the night… but an entire _day_? That was completely insane. There wasn't much they could help those people with. They had limited weapons, limited materials, limited immediate knowledge – their usefulness was very, very limited. Either they were big on theoretical and completely useless notions, or they wanted something from them.

It wasn't that hard to pick out the reason.

Although he could only gaze at the sky thanks to the flatbed's high sides, he noticed the outstretched shadows of the parking lot looming over them. The truck slowed down to a halt as the screech of ancient metal scratched against his eardrums. He looked to the right, and saw a gate torn from boxcars' doors come to a close on rusted hinges. Walls extended from its left and right, along with two small turrets on either side. With that he allowed himself to take in the sound of boots on concrete, the erratic gunshots of firing drills, the orders barked to entire platoons, and the occasional engine of another transport truck.

Their vehicle's doors slammed shut shortly after. They all got to their feet at their own pace, from First Recon's brisk movements to Phoenix's sluggish and deliberate stretching.

Even in the tight space provided by the truck, Keram-Rei gently shouldered his way to the ramp and waited for Stazzone and Ten of Spades to lower it. He cracked his neck, rotated his shoulders and drew in a deep breath.

_Here goes nothing._

He stepped forward to make room for the others just after his feet hit the ground. Looking up he met the faux-brick façade of the terminal, the modest condition of the asphalt, the other four parked trucks alongside the walls. The glass had been oddly preserved in the main entrance, and the large white sign that read 'McCarran International Airport' above the curved set of doors was shiny enough to suggest recent polishing. The place was cleaner than the rest of the ruins, sure, but the airport's age was undeniable in its cracks and in its patches of missing plaster.

Easier to meet were the twenty or more pairs of eyes wide open onto him – in stark contrast with the gaping holes of their guns' barrels. Men and women alike stared in shock from near the gates, around the trucks, next to the entrance; all were wearing the same desert tan uniform and the same dumbstruck expression. Not many had raised their weapons, although those that had looked like the youngest.

Keram-Rei slowly raised his hands, giving them his least threatening smile. He'd learned that the best thing to do when in a dangerous situation was to smile, look confident and hide his fear at the thought of twenty people opening fire on him if he did anything rash.

Footsteps hurried towards him as the rest of them descended from the truck. Gorobets appeared to his left and raised a hand in a pacifying gesture. The other rested on the strap of his rifle. "Stand down, First Recon has everything under control. Return to your duties, and do not worry."

What more incitement they needed to heed him came with a loud thump, a creak of metal and a sonorous snort. Eyes-Of-Silver's intervention added just the perfect emphasis to the Lieutenant's words, and everyone slowly but surely turned around as though nothing had happened.

"First Recon, stay with the ladies." Lieutenant Gorobets ordered his men, who gave various signs of assent (slightly less so when the werewolf glared at them standing next to Maria). He then met the Argonians' gazes. "You four, with me."

_Well, I guess it could've been worse._

Keram-Rei realized he'd been holding his breath. With extreme relief, he let it out. He didn't need to turn around to see Screaming-Eagle, Naeera and Eyes-Of-Silver fall in step behind him. He slowed down a bit and waited for them to catch up, in order to form a somewhat united front as they crossed the revolving doors and entered the terminal.

The first thing to catch his eye was the fighter jet hanging from the ceiling. It was larger than an adult cliff racer, and just as unsightly. Mostly chromed with black stripes near the cockpit, its wings at right angles with the frame, its nose bulgy and large… it had none of the grace a flying machine should have possessed.

The second thing he noticed was how _tiny_ it looked in comparison to the terminal itself.

It was built on two floors: the first was lined with slot machines, ancient equipment and what had once been shops; the second one overlooked the ground one and, if the broken and rusty escalators focused in one place were anything to go by, it probably led to some other structure beyond. The lights worked – mostly – and they plunged the place into a perpetual penumbra. He spotted soldiers standing guard on both levels. It was easy to see which of them had noticed the four non-human, scary people following a sniper throughout their base. The clacks helped.

"Remarkable placement." Eyes-Of-Silver whispered with casual interest. "Each of them is perfectly capable of tracking us with their weapons with little difficulty."

Naeera chuckled nervously, running a hand through her feathers. "Well, that's not ominous or anything."

_The way I see it, if shit hits the fan, Eyes-Of-Silver goes down first. You're the next. Then Screaming-Eagle and Naeera. We're talking about a couple of seconds each, though, so it's not like you're going anywhere._

Keram-Rei closed his eyes to refrain from making one of them twitch. _Thank you for the assessment, Treads-In-Gloom. Fundamental._

_Hey, you wanted helpful, I gave you helpful. Don't do anything stupid and watch out. Remember that if you die, I follow – and it's no Sovngarde for me._

He limited his reply to a weary exhalation and focused back on Gorobets. The man took a sharp turn to the left, passing through two rows of clean slot machines, and entered a narrow corridor. There were buzzing white neon lights on the walls, although only one in every four or five worked. Reinforced doors stood under the working lights. The few guards here had a black band on their arms with the letters 'MP' stenciled on them. Their reaction was hardly any different, however.

Lieutenant Gorobets stopped in front of a large, metallic gray door. Two tall male soldiers were standing there and, as soon as the Lieutenant snapped his fingers in front of their noses, they tore their eyes from the Argonians.

"Is Lieutenant Boyd in there?" Gorobets asked, masking his impatience, his brow set into a scowl.

Both of them managed a weak nod.

The Lieutenant motioned for them to follow, opened the door, and got inside. Keram-Rei gazed at the others and shrugged for a few hesitant moments, then set foot into the interrogation room.

It was… empty, devoid of any form of decoration. The tiles on the walls and floor were a dull sand color, and there were a few dark brown stains that couldn't have been anything other than blood. There was a large table in the middle, with a small lightbulb hanging overhead, and he counted six chairs on its sides. The Lieutenant was facing a dark-haired woman. Her buzzcut was visible under her camo green beret. She was tall, not particularly attractive, and she looked somewhere between annoyed and amused.

"… Legion super mutants?" She mocked him, arms crossed on her chest. "Or trained deathclaws, like those reports I've read? Come on, Gorobets, show me your four polars."

In return, Gorobets jerked a thumb towards the door.

The woman's eyes followed it to Keram-Rei, then moved over to Screaming-Eagle, Naeera and Eyes-Of-Silver, who'd had to bend forwards and cross the door on his side.

She stifled her laughter and turned back to the Lieutenant. "Masked people, really?"

_Hey, we haven't had denial yet, have we? Apart from the robot._

Gorobets rolled his eyes as the woman strolled over to Keram-Rei. She tilted her head, sighed, and firmly took hold of his jaw to open his mouth. "Come on, I bet this is just some sort of disturbed- _SHIT!_"

Keram-Rei would have snickered, weren't it for his vexation at someone examining him for the second time that day. Instead he let her have a perfect look at his sharp teeth and, as soon as she let go of him and staggered back, he snapped his mouth shut.

The woman's gaze darted between Gorobets' poorly-masked smirk and the Dragonborn. She shook her head, regained her composure, and adjusted her beret. She drew in a sharp breath, opened her eyes, and held both hands to her rather flat chest. "Boyd. Carrie Boyd." She pointed a finger towards herself, then to them. "Me Boyd. You?"

"Pardon me, am I supposed to feel insulted or entertained?" Eyes-Of-Silver inquired, frowning. "I am rather conflicted at the moment."

Naeera just laughed at Boyd's open mouth and wide eyes.

Gorobets genially patted her shoulder as he walked away. "I'll be back to my unit, Lieutenant Boyd."

That seemed to get her back into motion. Lieutenant Boyd glared at the door creaking shut, then presented the Argonians a flat stare and rapped her knuckles on the table. Keram-Rei sat on the side with four chairs, in the middle. Naeera took the corner to his left, and Screaming-Eagle dropped onto the chair to his right, always in the middle. Eyes-Of-Silver grumbled something under his breath and settled for leaning against the wall.

At that, the Lieutenant took the chair from Screaming-Eagle's right, brought it to the other side and sat down. There were a few moments of stunned silence, until she cleared her throat. "What the fuck are you?"

Screaming-Eagle pressed against the backrest with a faint trace of a smile. "I fail to see any of your commanders around, _Lieutenant_."

Boyd clenched her fists at that, but didn't reply.

_How long do you think we're going to wait?_

Keram-Rei shrugged a shoulder. _Not much._

_Which in actual time translates to…?_

_How am I supposed to know?_ Keram-Rei retorted. _No more than two minutes. This place is big, but not _that_ big._

_Hmm, you may be right. Besides, they were warned on the radio, I think they're on their way here._

The armored door creaked on its hinges once more.

Keram-Rei hid his grin. _Or maybe they're already here._

Two figures walked in. They were both men a little over average height, both carried rifles slung across their backs and a pistol against their thighs, and both wore roughly the same uniforms as Boyd - but that was where the similiarities ended. One had dark skin, a graying beard that indicated he was well over fifty years old, and a hard face. The other looked younger, perhaps in his forties, rather handsome when compared to most other men around here. The thing that drew the Argonians' attention were his almond eyes. Keram-Rei had never seen a man with eyes like his back on Nirn, and only through stolen memories of propagandistic posters of the 'Chinese enemy' here on Earth.

They stopped dead in their tracks upon seeing them.

Lieutenant Boyd was the first to react. She got to her feet, stiffly saluted, and waves an arm towards the Argonians. "These are the polars Gorobets spoke about, sirs."

The elder of the two narrowed his eyes on them, his bushy eyebrows furrowed. "The men talked about deathclaws on the way here." He snorted. "They don't look like deathclaws."

"Because we are _not_ deathclaws." Screaming-Eagle said with a shrug. She planted her staff and adjusted her posture. "I am Screaming-Eagle, at your service. These are respectively Keram-Rei and Naeera, while the large male near the wall is Eyes-Of-Silver."

The werewolf grunted in acknowledgement. Naeera smiled broadly and waved. Keram-Rei limited himself to a nod.

The younger man stared at them intently for what might have been an eternity, then gave them a minuscule bow of his head and sat down in the middle chair, followed closely by the Lieutenant and the black, scowling man.

"I am Colonel James Hsu, while the man accompanying me is Major Samuel Dhatri." He spoke with calm, his hands joined on the table. "I see you've already met Lieutenant Carrie Boyd."

Keram-Rei's spiked brows furrowed deeply. "You're pretty calm for a guy who's just seen four monsters."

"Calm is what you have to be when people look to you." The Colonel simply stated, the smallest of smiles pulling at the corners of his lips for a moment. "Besides, I've already met my fair share of monsters. They wear red."

Eyes-Of-Silver's growl echoed loudly inside of the small room.

"Why would you care?" Major Dhatri asked them – specifically, Eyes-Of-Silver. "You aren't from here, and you aren't human."

"We're still talking about people being enslaved, tortured and killed here, buddy." Naeera chuffed in anger.

"Things work different from where we come from." Keram-Rei told them. "If someone falls, you help him get up. You don't beat him senseless, take his money and eat him."

Colonel Hsu leaned in a little bit closer, his eyes narrowed. "And _where_ do you come from?"

_They'll never believe you if you give them the actual story, they're smart – especially the Colonel. Go for plausible._

"North, too many miles to count." Keram-Rei lied, catching a glimpse of Screaming-Eagle's slight questioning look. His tail tapped her chair's leg in an affirmative motion and motioned for her to wait.

"Snow-capped mountains, frozen wastes and cold waters." Screaming-Eagle continued after a second or two of silence. "A war, like yours. Beasts, like the ones you fight to survive. There is no peace there, either."

Dhatri shook his head and laughed. It was a deep, rich sound that lasted for precious few seconds. He somehow got the feeling he wasn't going to hear anything like that again from him. "Are we supposed to believe you found your way here from _Alaska_?"

"Actually, we're from Canada – and 'found' isn't the right word." Keram-Rei retorted. He paused for a moment, to add emphasis and reflect on how easy this was, then raised a brow. "You know what a Vault is, don't you?"

_You see? They're buying it. Easy as that. Now watch out with what you're going to tell them. Use something flashy, but don't go into details on how it worked. Base it on Vault 24._

Dhatri looked like he was going to answer rudely, but Hsu raised a hand and cut him off. "The NCR originated in a Vault, yes. What about it?"

"We found one just past the border with Alaska." Keram-Rei said flatly as he shook his left forearm to further prove his point. "We got inside, and that's where me and Screaming-Eagle got our hands on two functioning Pip-Boys. We walked through the abandoned halls and corridors, explored the place, when we stumbled across a dark room."

To further prove their point, Screaming-Eagle bent forwards to scowl at Naeera. "And _someone_ decided touching anything is sight was a good idea."

"Oh, fuck you, Screaming-Eagle." Naeera blurted out. Funny thing was, her words were sincere.

"That's all we remember before we woke up in Vault 24, Arizona." Keram-Rei finished, raising his tone to stop a possible argument. They got the message. Although the three people in front of him had little in the way of knowing his expression, he grimaced convincingly. "Then… then we first saw the Legion."

As far as he knew, they didn't look suspicious. They actually seemed to be buying it. Dhatri and Boyd looked convinced; Hsu, on the other hand, listened to the story with neutral interest.

_That's the spirit! Don't even mention the giant-ass camp, go small to explain why there's a kid following you around. An assault on their base would sound impossible. The dog isn't stupid, he'll understand._

"The Vault was abandoned, all dust and skeletons." Keram-Rei continued without ever slipping out of his storytelling tone. "After we got to the other side, we walked for an hour or so before finding a small settlement – half a dozen shacks and a chain link fence behind the largest house. We thought about going in and asking for help." He gritted his teeth, closed his eyes for a moment and clenched his fists. It wasn't that hard to come up with a pissed act, he'd nearly died in a Legion ambush. "A few gunmen on the roofs started firing as soon as they saw us, while the rest of them rushed us with rusty swords."

Lieutenant Boyd edged in closer to the table, propping her elbows against its surface and resting her head on her interlaced fingers. "What did you do?"

"We answered in kind." Eyes-Of-Silver snorted. There was more amusement in his voice than he would've ever been comfortable with. "Feeble maniacs in hardened leather against us? We slaughtered them all. Fifteen fools in total." His growl rumbled like thunder. "Not nearly enough to quench my bloodthirst when we saw the true purpose of the pen."

"It was for slaves." Naeera spat out hatefully. "We couldn't – _I _ still _can't_ fucking believe it."

"When we got there it was just a slave, singular." Keram-Rei said grimly. "An old man lay dead near the entrance. He'd been shot twice, maybe while we were figthing, maybe before that. The other one, though, managed to survive." He cast a tactical glance towards the three officers. "Have you seen the girls we've come with?"

Major Dhatri raised a shaggy brow, before he met the Colonel's eyes. "Wait, what did Gorobets say on the radio? Two blacks, and…?"

"And a cub." Colonel Hsu breathed. Whereas Dhatri chuffed and shook his head and Boyd slammed her hand on the table, the Colonel's expression was simpy tired, as if he'd grown used to hearing such things. "I see. The Legion enslaves anyone who might be useful – in the immediate or in the future."

Keram-Rei felt his stomach lurch at the possible implications. There was impossibly evil, there was insanely deviated, and then there were these levels of abhorrence. Maria, an adorable eight-year-old, being kept by the Legion for reproduction and pleasure.

"What happened with the Fiends?" Major Dhatri abruptly asked, his tone gruff. He nearly thanked the man for the interruption. "Were you caught unaware, too?"

"Well, not really." Keram-Rei admitted. He shrugged a shoulder and smirked. "We knew who we were up against. Eyes-Of-Silver easily spotted the horde. So we flanked them, waited for the right distraction, and ambushed them." His smirk turned into a grin. "These people are nuts. They're erratic, unpredictable, and have no idea how to fight properly. Me and Eyes-Of-Silver handled them with ease, while Screaming-Eagle provided us with a diversion."

_Yeah, sure… lots of planning involved. Especially when you completely forgot about her being a tailless and not being able to run. Not saying she should've deserved better, mind you, but it was something more like _your_ distraction that caused this._

Screaming-Eagle's hesitant chuckle reminded him of a kid standing next to a broken pot. "Let's say it wasn't exactly intentional. But it worked."

The Colonel actually snickered back. He swept his steady gaze over them and, after a moment of silence, he settled against the backrest. "What are you?"

"Argonians." The four of them answered in unison.

"We are aquatic reptiles, and our main habitat is what an ancient map would name the Northwest Territories, near the Great Slave Lake, the Great Bear Lake and the Mackenzie River – we call those the Mirrors-Of-The-Sky." Screaming-Eagle provided. Good thing she'd started talking, he had already forgotten three quarters of this world's geography.

_Alright, now you can say pretty much whatever the fuck you want and you'd be safe. I don't think this Republic's army has even set foot in Oregon._

"We were all born in the ruins of Yellowknife, although from different tribes." Keram-Rei picked up. Once her immediate knowledge was exhausted, he was afraid the mage would start talking nonsense. "You see, we live in small communities spread all around the lakes, but we send and receive younglings to and from different tribes to avoid inbreeding. We were all sent to the same one, and began to travel together shortly after."

He could see none of the officers had completely believed him on the last point. There was no actual way of verifying what he'd said and, unlike their encounter with the Legion, they couldn't possibly have some information on Canada to confront with the version they'd been provided. The four of them hadn't said anything about how they lived, what they ate, what they were descended from, how it was that their bodies worked, _nothing_. Some bullshit about Canada, tribes, and some sketch of social culture.

Thankfully, that was enough.

Horns blared from everywhere around them in intermittent, rhythmic howls. Gunshots from the outside rang out against the orderly waves of noise, along with the vibrant roar of two explosions and the tremor of a collapsing structure – a wing of the airport, not too far from their room. Muffled screams and yowls were barely audible amidst the hellish uproar.

All of them jumped to their feet. Keram-Rei's hand hovered to his sword's hilt, and he bit back a curse when he remembered magic would be too impressive, thus leading to more questions. No matter, he would aid himself with Shouts when possible. In the meantime, the others took hold of whatever weapon they had on them, Screaming-Eagle included.

The reinforced door opened with impossible, irritating sluggishness. Halfway through the process one of the outside guards barged through in panic. His terror showed off as mere fear on his face.

"Sirs!" He saluted, then fumbled to get his weapon into his trembling hands again. "We are under attack!"

_No shit._ Keram-Rei thought, almost baring his fangs.

_Keram-Rei, want me to remind you what you said – or yelped – at the Battle for Whiterun?_

Colonel Hsu cocked his rifle ready and grunted in acknowledgement. "Fiends?"

The soldier nodded frantically. "Yes sir! Chatter says they've breached the walls and they're pouring inside the perimeter! We'll be overrun!"

Glass shattered. Shrieks of rage and excitement echoed with distinct clarity. Guns opened up, closer this time. Keram-Rei guessed they were farther down the corridor, back into the terminal where they'd entered.

"Great, some suicidal moron attacks the great Republic and its bastion." Naeera grated, teeth showing in an annoyed grimace.

Eyes-Of-Silver was about to say something when he let out something like a distressed bark, almost a whine. He then snarled, took his axes in hand and shoved the frightened guard away from the door.

"Shit!" Naeera all but screamed, her golden eyes wide with shock. "Where are the girls?"

* * *

Chaos. Everything was complete and utter chaos.

Maria gripped Veronica's fingers as hard as she could – she and Becky were the only two people she knew out there. She feared she was going to go deaf. There were just too many screams, shots and explosions for her ears to handle. Her eyes were blurred with tears. What was happening? Where was Mr. Wolf?

She could only see the soldiers fighting against the savages in the twilight. The men with the large rifles had been asking them questions when it all began. Then those _monsters_ had come howling and snarling, and they had gone away in haste. Becky and Veronica, instead, had decided they had to go back to where Mr. Wolf and the others were. It was the large building, she knew that much.

What she didn't know was how they were going to get there.

She'd already seen the other crazy people back at the Camp – but there had never been more than one or two back then. Now there were too many for her to count. Bodies lay everywhere, and blood pooled around them. She couldn't bring herself to find a reason why they killed each other. They were all people, why did they have to do this?

Maria just followed. Wherever the two girls went, she followed them through the battlefield. She couldn't focus on anything, it was just death and madness and noise. She ran and ran behind them, when they took a sudden turn to the right and entered an open door. She sprinted in without even thinking.

She took in wooden walls and a wooden roof; a loud thump shortly after and the noise vanished. It was dark, but she saw rows of empty metal shelves in the room. She turned and saw Becky push a large crate in front of the door. She noticed she was shaking, her heart was racing, and her lungs were burning.

"Where are we?" Maria dared ask, her voice a quavering from fear. The silence here was a relief, at least.

"A shack, not far from where they've taken the others – we think it's connected to the place." Veronica told her, smiling and brushing her hair away from her eyes. She leaned heavily against her warm hand. "Don't worry, everything's going to be okay."

Becky gently dropped to one knee and grinned. "That's right. There are stairs outside leading to the terminal, but there's got to be stairs on the inside, too."

Maria nodded quickly. Anything was fine by her if it brought her back to Mr. Wolf. They were going to make it.

The door rattled on its hinges, as though something had slammed against it.

The smiles disappeared from the two girls' faces. Becky took her rifle from her backpack, while Veronica clenched her fist with a puff of steam. Without another word, she took Maria's hand and squeezed tight. She squeezed back.

The three of them hurried in the darkness. Becky pushed a button on the thing on her wrist, and the room was bathed in a faint green light. It just showed them more shelves and boxes – and a blue door to the far side. They started towards it. When her breath went back to normal and her heart beat more regularly, she let go of Veronica's hand for a moment as she opened the door.

Beyond it were rusty grey stairs.

"Bingo." Becky murmured, triumphant.

Veronica and Becky had a step's advantage over her, but she didn't mind. As long as they were all together and there was nothing separating them, she was perfectly fine. This, reinforced by the thought of seeing Mr. Wolf again, made her actually smile. Just a few more steps, and there would be Mr. Wolf there, hugging her.

The door at the top of the stairs opened up into a gray corridor, its walls cracked and chipped. The large windows on either side were completely shattered, letting in the smell of bodies, smoke and blood, accompanied by the ever-present roar of battle. Flames from the outside lighted their way. Everything was… empty, and blackened. Small fires ate away at whatever they could.

Something raised the hairs on the back of her neck. It wasn't what was happening, it was something else. Something bad. She trotted up to the other girls and pulled their hands. "I… I don't like this. L-let's go back."

"I don't like this, either, but we don't have a choice." Becky told her, scanning her surroundings with her rifle as they walked.

"No, it's this _place_!" Maria insisted, pulling harder. Why didn't she understand? "Something bad's going to happen, I know it!"

There was a loud crash from far behind them. Joyful hoots echoed from the door they'd come from, back inside the shack.

"Run!" Becky screamed.

Maria broke into a sprint, as fast as she could go. She managed to keep up with them for most of the corridor, while the fight still raged on below them. She was having a hard time trying to run with the dress Mr. Wolf had given her. Nice as it may have been, it was far too long around her legs and reached down to her ankles. How much she wished he'd given her something more practical.

She tripped over one of the folds and tumbled to the ground.

The world spun for a second before she saw Becky and Veronica hadn't even noticed. She shouted something incoherent in terror of what might happen if they didn't come back and got their attention. They halted at once and turned towards her, looks of undisguised horror donning their faces. They'd have picked her up, maybe slowly, but at least she'd have been running again away from the savages and back to Mr. Wolf, Naeera, Eagle and Ray, then they'd use their magic and-

An explosion roared, louder everything that happened that night.

The ground beneath her heaved for one, frightening instant with sharp cracks and the groan of metal.

She was falling.

Maria closed her eyes shut as she flailed down for what had to be an eternity. She expected a world of pain when she landed on the concrete, with rubble raining onto her. She didn't know if she would survive it. For that moment, she didn't know anything other than fear. Fear of pain, of death, of never seeing any of her new friends again, of surviving only to be taken away again.

What met her, instead, was something relatively soft and wet and smelling of char. She crashed into it with a squelch, but aside from what were going to be giant bruises on her arms and back, she was fine. Fire crackled everywhere, and dust masked everything, stinging her eyes and making it hard to see where the fires didn't burn. She tried to get to her feet, but her right hand slipped on whatever liquid it was she'd fallen over. She rolled to her side in the rubble; this gave her a view of what had stopped her fall.

She screamed.

Whatever it was she had landed on had once been a man; now it was only a black lump with broken arms and legs. It didn't have a face, just a gaping mouth frozen in a silent shriek and fused skin deleting its features. It was dead, and there were more like it; she couldn't count, but she was sure even one of them was one too much to see.

Maria backed away, her breath coming in in short gasps. Her heart hammered in her chest. The dust and smoke all around her seemed to thicken. This wasn't happening, this couldn't have been happening, Mr Wolf was supposed to save her, where was he? Where? Where? _Where?_ "WHERE?!"

In response to her cry for help, a short figure climbed up from the rubble, next to the fire. He was dressed just like the other savages, and stared into her eyes, his head tilted in curiosity. Then his mouth split in a brown smile made of rotten teeth and blood, and he stumbled towards her, toying with the large club in his hand. She couldn't move. The closer he got to her, the least her body answered to stimuli. The only thing she could do was stare in hapless, paralyzed dismay as he shuffled closer. He was bleeding, but it didn't stop him from raising his club and giggling crazily.

He was standing a few feet from her when the savage burst into flames. He didn't scream, he didn't roll on the floor, he didn't hit her. He just dropped down, his eyes fixed into hers as his flesh burned and sizzled. Even after he'd died, it almost looked like he was still staring at her.

That shook her into motion. She let out a frightened yelp, only for it to turn into a victorius shout. Far as she knew, only Ray or Eagle could use fire with their magic - there, she was saved!

A dark silhouette appeared inside the dust. It was a man, so it had to be Ray. Her smile widened with each step he took, with each time the rhytmic clang of his boots echoed in her ears. He was taller than she remembered… no matter, he had saved her, of course he looked that big.

Finally, his boot emerged from the smoke.

Her smile shattered.

It was gray.

With it came a leg as broad as a log, covered in spiked steel and bent plates. Then the other leg appeared, and just below his knee three skulls hung from the chains attached to the monster's hip. They were level height with a small flame emitting from a larger skull's tongue, its open jaws presenting a tube that ran back to an enormous gauntlet. The arm it belonged to was as thick as her chest, and his own chest was almost as big as Mr. Wolf's, only covered in ugly plating of burnished metal. Over it wasn't a face, but a black, horned slab of steel with a small slit carved into it.

His rumbling, insane laughter turned her legs to jelly and made her insides tremble. It was enough for the battle to fade into background noise.

Then he tilted his head, clearly staring into her eyes, and shot a gout of orange flame into the air with his weapon. Hot air hit her like a strong gale as the monster chuckled. "A new toy."


	17. On the Hunt

Naeera bolted for the weird-looking stairs as soon as the sadistic bandits started pouring inside of the terminal guns-blazing and the soldiers answered with their own fire. She left that sort of fight to Eyes-Of-Silver and Keram-Rei, maybe with Screaming-Eagle acting as a supporting role. She was a thief, she had daggers and a bow, and she was supposed to be stealthy in order to be efficient. How in Oblivion was she going to be efficient amidst a blood-crazed horde?

Besides, there was still the matter of the girls. She had to find wherever Veronica, Phoenix and little Maria had been taken. She let those troopers gawp at her running up the fluted steps and ended up into a long, dark corridor. To her left and right, after the railings, two more hallways opened past the closed shops. The occasional bullet hissed by through the din and punched small holes into the whitish walls. She ducked down, cursing at the bastards shooting at her and at how strong those weapons were, when she decided the central path was as good as the side ones and made a run for it.

The ground under her taloned feet shook in tune with a roaring explosion. She staggered for a bit before using her tail to steady her run again. It sounded like it came further down that way, too. She gritted her teeth and spat out another curse.

It took an eternity and a half for the corridor to resolve itself into a circular room, with three more hallways branching from it, just like the one she'd come from. Lights flickered on and off, mostly off. There were close to thirty empty bunk beds and closed lockers and, giving herself a moment of pause, she noticed a few of them had been abandoned in haste. These had to be some of the soldiers' quarters – different world or no, she recognized the absolute order that ruled there. It could only be military.

No answers to be had from empty beds. She supposed Screaming-Eagle and her fancy-pancy super magic might have given her an answer, but the bitch was too busy trying to fight an unknown enemy to care about a 'harlot' like her. Great.

Naeera's long feathers bristled like shoulder-length hair at a quiet sound, as though it had displaced them with its strength. The noise was soft, maybe too soft to be picked up in the blazing inferno that was McCarran, but that only increased the sensation of how out of place it felt.

A girl was sobbing.

Her head snapped towards the corridor on the left, and she followed the source of the noise with care and stealth. If the one crying was another soldier and she startled her, she was as good as dead with those guns. So, silently, she stuck to the shadows and followed the tall, shattered windows along the sides. The closer she got, the more she could make out words from two people, two young women. The smell of charred corpses, fire and dust hit her like a physical wave.

"… Anything we could do." The other woman whispered. There was pain in her voice, and what struck the thief the most was how familiar it was. Her gills itched. This wasn't good.

"I-I… I know, but she…" The crying girl managed to whine, only to sob out loudly. "Oh God, Maria…"

Naeera froze on the spot. Her throat felt dry, and there was a sudden lump forming in her chest. These were Phoenix and Veronica – and the two shapes sitting and kneeling not far from a torn wound in the building confirmed it. Her eyes and hearing canals had to be playing some sort of trick on her.

Where was Maria?

"Hey!" Naeera called. She couldn't help it, she sprinted towards the girls as fast as she could. There was no way of keeping the fear out of her voice. "What happened? Where… where's Maria?"

Phoenix burst into wretched sobs. Veronica, instead, took a deep breath and gently shook her head. "We had run together into a shack to escape from the Fiends. They broke open the door as soon as we got here, so we started running, and…" She trailed off, her head bowed, and gestured at the collapsed part of the elevated hallway.

"Oh, no." Naeera breathed. She felt as though her scales might pale like a man's skin. "Oh Gods, no." Her hands wandered to her feathers and clutched at them. Something warm and wet trickled down her eyes. "No, no, no, no, no…"

Maria was eight years old, with the cutest smile she'd ever seen and the saddest story behind her. She had found freedom, thanks to Eyes-Of-Silver, or 'Mr. Wolf'. Naeera was going to get crazy with dressing her and playing with her and braiding her hair and… shit, she was just a _kid_.

Now she was gone.

It… it just couldn't have happened. It wasn't possible for a kid to die like this, she knew it. She'd seen some die, but she still refused to believe any of those deaths had been true. They had been just so young, they had so much to live and learn, and their lives had been snuffed out like that. Poof, gone. To think Maria shared their fate made it hard to breathe. "By Mara and Dibella, no…"

Before Naeera could curl up into a ball and just lie on the ground to be crushed by grief, a scream gave her hope – it was a terrible hope, sure, but always better than death. The pitch was just right for a frightened little girl. The implications gave her horror to no end, but at least now she knew there was something she could do and sorrow couldn't keep her down. Her whole body ached to jump down and run after the trail. Still, there was something that needed to be done.

"Veronica." She spoke her name. While Phoenix kept crying, the young woman turned her head to meet her eyes. "Make her snap out of it and go help the others. These motherfuckers are all over the place. I want you two to help the rest of us fight them back. Take Phoenix's weapon if necessary – I don't _care_. Just help fight these monsters back."

Veronica bit her lip. It was the first time she'd seen her in doubt, without that characteristic smile of hers donning her face. "What about you?"

Naeera snorted and grinned fiercely. She moved towards the edge of the broken hallway, glanced down and rotated her shoulders, exhaling and inhaling sharply. She took in the noise, stench and chaos she was going to avoid. "I'm taking Maria back."

She jumped down. Soon as her talons impacted, she rolled with the fall and came back up to her feet amidst the rubble and raging fire. Corpses burned here and there, while some others were just lumps of black, smoking flesh. One still sizzled just in front of her, emanating the nauseating miasma of cooked human meat. She immediately aimed her attention to her surroundings. The only free way was to her left; the other three paths had been blocked by debris, which stood out like broken bones and jagged teeth.

Just one way she could go, then.

Her first move was to free her daggers from her belt. The Dragonfangs' comfortable hilts between her fingers, she started forwards, through the backwash heat of the flames. Detonations bloomed through the night like fiery blossoms, accompanied by their furious roars and the constant chatter of gunfire. She blended with the flickering gloom and remained near whatever walls she could find. She didn't actually care about the noise; the most distant screams were louder than her footsteps in any case.

Naeera soon found herself in a broad open space filled with rusted… _things_. She hadn't the faintest idea what they were, except that they looked like titanic tubes made of metal. There were smaller ones the size of Dragons, and she supposed they looked more nimble, but she spotted a couple of colossi that were as large as the hall of Jorrvaskr and three times as long. She was oblivious as to what they once did.

The battle went on behind her, but here there was little to no action except for running Fiends. Further in front of her she saw a torn fence, lit by a torch of some kind. It was just outside the breached walls.

When even the last raider had crossed in to join the fray with some drug-induced battecry, she crawled over to the opening. A quick inspection told her it hadn't been cut through, but melted – and next to it a burning, impaled head signalled the entrance. Poor bastard.

She nimbly leapt through the gap without the hint of a sound. Ruins awaited her past the deserted road in all directions.

Damn, she should have thought about that.

She scanned the streets for any sign of Fiends leaving the place, but between the fast-fading twilight and the five-story buildings, the only things she saw were shadows. No scream came to her help. Maria must have thought Eyes-Of-Silver wouldn't have needed any to find her. Good thing the big guy was fighting through hundreds of maniacs, then.

"Oh, fuck me…" Naeera muttered. She tilted her head back to look at the sky in exhasperation, then went back to the city and picked the street just in front of her. Her guess had worked the first time, why not try again now?

* * *

Nothing. She'd come up with fucking nothing.

Naeera let out a frustrated howl before she recomposed herself. Focus. She had to focus. No matter there was no way of finding a kid through a ruined city without either major sorcery or a werewolf, no matter that the battle still raged on, no matter her companions might be overwhelmed by a crowd of raving bandits and torn to pieces – well, hadn't Keram-Rei cared for Screaming-Eagle, she guessed it would've served the mage just right - she had to focus. She had come out there to look for Maria and by the Gods, she _was_ going to find her.

She stabbed at the roof of a nearby wreck (she guessed they were called curs or something) to relieve herself from tension. Her dagger pierced through it with little difficulty one, two, thirty times as though it were Maria's kidnapper's chestplate. Each thrust brought her relief, clearing her mind from the foggy stress that had clouded her thoughts.

Right. Desert nights were pretty cold, and whatever kind of insane fuckers the Fiends were, they were still humans - and they had to use heat to warm themselves up. Even deep within the ruins as she was, the inferno that was McCarran was still visible behind her as billowing black smoke rose like from a giant Nord funeral pyre. By the same logic, she would have been able to spot smaller fires if she got to high ground.

Easier said than done. Every home around her looked like it might have fallen apart with a spit. Still, a once-yellow building with its door ajar and its walls cracked appeared to be a little bit safer, and it was on her side of the road. The roof hadn't caved in, the windows were barred and it just looked really old, not ancient like the others.

Another thing that inspired her where the loud whimpers that came from the inside.

Naeera crouched down below the boarded window to the doorway's right and peered inside. Dark as Riften's Ratway and smelling just as bad, with a form rocking back and forth in the darkness, maybe a man. She crept through the entrance with a cat's grace. The rotten wood all but creaked under her feet. What little she could see were a couple of dusty columns and stairs, but she was looking for a room on the right.

Her eyes fell upon a doorknob and, instead of turning it open at once, she rapped her knuckles on the wooden door.

The whimpers were cut by a gasp, followed by a scraping sound and a couple of clicks. "G-go away!"

Hmph. _Old_ man. Breaking his bones to glean a possible answer was out of question, she'd have felt too bad afterwards. So she slipped to the door's side as a precaution and cleared her throat. "Relax, I'm not a Fiend. I'm not going to hurt you."

"Don't… don't ya think for a moment ya foolin' me, miss!" The old man replied, panicking. This time a clack came with his words. "I'm armed!"

Naeera was starting to lose her patience. Elderly or no, he said something stupid again and she was going to punch him in his wizened balls. "If I were one of those fuckers, don't you think I could've just kicked the door open and cut your throat?"

This time, she earned no answer. Something like metal thudded against the ground on the other side.

"I'm looking for them, they got someone I care for." Naeera pressed on. There was little need to fake urgency or fear, they came naturally. "They have a kid. I think the one who caught her came this way. The only signs I saw when I followed the trail were burned bodies, but that was next to McCarran. I don't know where to go." Her voice quavered. "Please, help me."

The man began to whimper to himself again. After some mindless babbling, his words resolved into actual speech. "Oh no, if… _he_ got a kid again… no, no, not again, not another… listen! I… everyone in Ol' Vegas knows Cook-Cook. His cronies at the camp always lights barrels at sundown, can't miss the smoke from the streets. Look right ahead of ya from the doorway and ya'll find the place."

"Thank you!" Naeera answered. A hopeful smile began to spread across her face. "Thank you so much!"

"Wait, before ya go." The man called, and she awaited for the request. "All the ruckus I'm hearin'… s'it McCarran?"

"Yeah, it's under attack." Naeera told him. Question for a question, fair enough. "The Fiends swarmed the place while my friends and I were there."

The man behind the door let out a grunt of acknowledgement. "Serves them murderers right… now go! Hurry, if ya want to find that kid!"

There was no time to ask what he meant with 'murderers'. She didn't need any further encouragement. She darted for the exit and into the streets, her gaze up to the sky. Light had faded even more in the minute or two she had spent inside, there were only clouds and stars and – there! There they were, small columns of gray smoke curling up and up into the darkening heavens, just ahead of her as he'd said.

Naeera sprung for the nearest vehicle's roof and hopped from wreck to wreck, her talons barely scratching the metal with each landing. Going over the husks was much faster than trying to edge through them, and the little advantage in height was enough for her to focus on the smoke. She turned either right or left at each intersection, her target clear.

It was at the third turn she spotted a large, bloody figure further down the street. There was no mistaking Eyes-Of-Silver for anyone else; they still weren't close enough for the Fiends to hear them, so she whistled sharply at him.

He didn't turn, he just strode on… or rather, staggered.

The closer she got to him, the more she saw something was very, very wrong with him. His armor was actually chipped in places, and she suspected not all of that blood on him belonged to his enemies. Was it possible he hadn't even noticed her? With his smell and hearing?

Naeera slowed down when she was just ten feet from him. He was still holding his axe tight, at least.

"Hey!" She called again. When he ignored her, she kicked a nearby vehicle's door with a snarl. "HEY!"

Eyes-Of-Silver whirled around at that. His head was slightly more of a mess than usual, with more bleeding cuts and open scars than she remembered. His chestplate was a ruin; all the carvings looked like they'd been exposed to a millennium of rain (and a year or two of landslides), and the rest of his armor was cracked in various places. It looked like he was favoring his right leg. Still, his face lit up when he saw her. "Naeera?"

"Yeah, it's… me." Naeera answered. She was at a loss. "What… what happened?"

Eyes-Of-Silver shut his eyes closed and shook his head. "Pardon me, could you rephrase that?"

Naeera's eyes widened in horror. This wasn't real. It couldn't be. "What the fuck happened?!"

Eyes-Of-Silver frowned and mouthed her words back, then sighed. "'Twas that… that accursed battle. The smell overpowered me in seconds, and so did the infernal din." He grimaced – in _pain_. "I fear I cannot hunt purely by nose, and… I am all but deaf."

Naeera was about to ask how he'd actually noticed her, when the thought hit her. Her kick had made the door vibrate, a vibration which had spread through the ground - and to him. He hadn't heard her. He'd just felt her. Just now, he'd read her lips. She refrained from saying anything else, sure as she was of Eyes-Of-Silver's own pain and frustration, and pointed towards the smoke. "I know where Maria is."

Eyes-Of-Silver's calm expression turned into a ferocious snarl in a moment. "Then we go there!"

Naeera firmly shook her head. "No we aren't. I'm going there." She pointed at him. "_You_ are following."

Eyes-Of-Silver growled at her, fangs bared and eyes narrowed. Then his shoulders slumped abruptly and he looked down to the ground, eyes closed. She guessed this was as close as he was going to get to crying. There was no imagining how heavy this all was for him. After a decade of enhanced senses upon which he'd relied entirely, he was basically naked. His defenses were confined to touch and sight. In this state, Naeera could have walked right over to him and stabbed him in the neck without him even noticing.

He was… frail.

The knuckles on his right hand cracked; the ones on the left hissed. He raised his burning eyes to meet hers and gave her a curt nod. "If we will find Maria this way, then so be it."

Naeera flashed him a determined grin. It was much better than the heartfelt, sympathetic smile she usually reserved for beggars and crippled veterans. "Let's go."

She let the werewolf fall in behind her. There went her chance of quickly getting to Maria. On the other hand, though, they had a much greater chance of overcoming the Fiends there by working together. She didn't know how many Fiends they were up against; maybe almost all of them were locked in combat at McCarran, or maybe this Cook-Cook bastard had a group of twenty people there. Ignorance made her furious. She couldn't counter anything they had set up if she didn't know what to expect.

So she stalked the sidewalks, brooding, following the smoke that trailed overhead and that grew closer and closer. Eyes-Of-Silver's breathing had become more laboured in the meantime. She looked over her shoulder, met his pained expression and scowled at him. "Are you sure you're in fighting shape?"

"I am well enough to slaughter them all." Eyes-Of-Silver assured her after a couple of seconds. The conditions of his body were the exact opposite of reassuring, though. His limp had worsened. Now he had to aid himself with a nearby wall to walk. His steps left bloody prints on the ground.

Naeera didn't push it. She knew that if she did, she was going to shatter his pride and render him useless anyway – and there was no telling him a blow to his ego was better than bleeding out. She set her jaw in unspoken annoyance and just moved on. Gods, how much she hated it when males started thinking with their dicks. Stubbornness was just going to get him killed, but _no_, he was big and strong and the one with balls of the two, no matter he was probably going to lose consciousness in the next ten minutes. He couldn't possibly afford to admit he was not fucking well, sit down and let her do the work.

After the last turn something stabbed her eyes that dispelled her angry thoughts.

Fire.

Half a dozen or so metal barrels burned brightly, lighting the front of a broad crumbling building just some eighty feet ahead of them. It was light gray, now darkened with grime, and the only thing that remained of the floors over the first one were a couple of pillars. The entrance just wasn't there anymore, only a vaguely-rectangular hole at street level, surrounded by rubble and a guarded by a stocky man. His leather protections were tied to his chest by what looked like steel cables, and he gripped some form of long pipe in one hand.

Naeera dropped to a crouch the very instant she spotted him. Eyes-Of-Silver did so at roughly the same time. With calm, her hands deposited her daggers in their fang-shaped scabbards and hovered to the pouch on her left hip. However diminuitive it might have appeared, it still let her carry around as many riches, poisons and weapons as she liked. Damned if she knew how it worked, though. She hadn't bothered to ask the sleeping mage she'd taken it from.

She thrust her hand inside and immediately found a long, sharp-edged object and a smaller, cylidrical one. She pulled hard. What her fingers gripped afterwards were an ancient ebony longbow whose runes shone a dull blue, and a black leather quiver filled with wicked double-pronged arrows. She strapped the quiver to her belt, took one arrow between the index and middle fingers and drew the bowstring back.

Naeera steadied her breath, her heart slowing down. Every other noise and sight were distractions she could not afford to indulge. There was only her target. He hadn't noticed them. If she wounded or missed him, they would have lost the element of surprise. So she aimed at the hairline over the man's left temple, accounting for the short distance and the gentle wind, and closed her eyes. She exhaled and let go of the string.

An instant later, smoke-gray feathers protruded from the Fiend's right eye socket. He had the time to look astonished for a moment or two before he fell to the ground. She counted to five. When no shout or alarm came, she motioned for Eyes-Of-Silver to follow her and crawled forwards, sticking to the shadows wherever possible. Perhaps the care she put in her movements was wasted, if the Fiends were as insane as she thought, but one was never too sure when-

A terrified shriek filled the night.

Naeera faltered and almost slammed her snout flat against the asphalt. By the Gods, what was happening in there? Her blood boiled at the thought of that monster laying a hand on Maria. Still, they had to be careful. There was no knowing how many Fiends there were inside of that place. She dropped the bow and quiver inside of her pouch, took her daggers in her hands and-

A wratful howl answered.

A primal terror paralyzed her body and mind. She suddenly felt like a feeble doe, left alone and abandoned to the mercy of a pack of wolves in a dark, dark forest. Her breath caught in her throat when a giant's step shook the earth under her feet. Then another followed, just before something majestic and merciless as white snow burst from the edge of her vision and dashed for the source of the scream.

Naeera's lungs began to work again at the realization it was Eyes-Of-Silver, and an overwhelming sense of relief made her sag against the wall to her left. Then she let out an incoherent, seething snarl and ran after it. Her entire plan had been blown by the lumbering, furry dumbass and his instincts. Now there was nothing else she could do except follow in and do whatever she could to aid him – in a straight fight. They were going to be of no use to Maria if they both died there.

Whereas the bestial Eyes-Of-Silver pounced and climbed his way to the inside, she went through the main entrance and ducked behind a collapsed pillar. Her daggers came free of their sheaths without a sound as she peeked into the main hall for a rapid assessment of the situation.

Judging from the lack of gunfire and the mauled torso that fell from the upper floor, there had been just two Fiends with Cook-Cook. There was a pen where a wall had crumbled, and she counted six… no, three cows. She blinked her eyes open and closed for a few times. Three bodies, but she could've sworn she'd counted six heads…

Her inspection of the cattle came to an abrupt end when a werewolf easily half the size of a giant dropped onto one of the animals and tore at the udder with his teeth. The bovine thrashed and lowed madly, and she decided watching the grisly demise of a bunch of cows wasn't going to be all that helpful. Still, where was that bastard Cook-Cook? There was an upper floor, could he be there? Could Maria be there?

Naeera slinked near the edges of the room, aiming for the stairs at the opposite end. With the mess Eyes-Of-Silver was making, she might've as well been running around naked and nobody would've even noticed. The animals must have all died, since the ripping and snapping was now the only sound she recognized. Gods, was he being _loud_ about it.

Suddenly a pair of heavy boots crashed hard into the ground. She rolled into cover and made herself as small as possible. She caught a glimpse of a huge raider in steel armor, just shy of seven feet, with a long tube attached to a tank on his back. Just by the way he shook, she could tell he was furious.

"QUEENIE!" The man screamed in maddened anguish, aiming the weapon straight at the werewolf. A tiny flame, like candlelight, danced between the open jaws of the skull mounted at its end. "YOU'RE GONNA PAY FOR THIS!"

Eyes-Of-Silver answered with a deep growl, rising from the bloody carcasses and staring at the Fiend's mask with wild hatred. Blood and gore dripped and stained his white fur and muzzle.

Great, time to get the fuck out of there.

Naeera avoided the two by slithering through whatever pile of rubble she could find, not even daring look up and see how things were going. Just as she approached the stairs fire hissed and roared, and suddenly a bright orange glare lit the entire room. So she stuck closer to the dwindling shadows, while Eyes-Of-Silver whined in pain. She grimaced and forced the thought of his fur burning out of her head. He was going to make it. She hoped.

She wormed up the steps in silence. A bone snapped loudly, accompanied by the sound of metal crashing to the ground; this time, it was the Fiend's turn to squeal. A gun barked, and Eyes-Of-Silver grizzled at the triumphant cry that followed.

She hissed uncomfortably through gritted teeth. Things weren't going as well as she'd imagined.

Naeera reached the top of the stairs, ending up into a shabby corridor covered in dark stains and burn marks. The smell of smoke and scorched… _things_ permeated the air in that hallway. There was only one door that didn't lead to a jump into the ground floor or into a wall of debris, and so she headed towards it.

Looking inside she felt mildly surprised. She saw a dead Fiend there, his cold fingers clutching a short, stocky gun with two barrels she couldn't recognize. A serrated knife was jammed into his neck, a pool of blood spreading underneath him. Had that Cook-Cook maniac killed this guy?

The question faded a moment later, when her surprise turned to rage. She'd found Maria alive, but she fought hard to suppress a growl. The child was tied to a dirty mattress on a rusty bed frame, her little green dress torn and tattered. She was weeping and shaking with silent sobs.

Naeera shook her head, snorted in contempt and ripped the knife from the raider's corpse. The blade cut through the rope tied to the girl's left ankle with ease, then through the one on the left. Maria fell silent for a moment as she worked on the wrists and freed her.

Maria wrapped her arms around her neck with the speed of a bear trap. Naeera hugged her tight in reply. They had come just in time, not a moment too late. Her grimy red hair felt softer than silk under her scaly hands. Although now she smelled of roasted flesh, the thief couldn't care less. It was the sweetest scent possible on her. Who knew what that son of a bitch might have done if they hadn't found her.

Naeera couldn't help but shed a tear in relief, too. She sat in silence on that grimy bed, trapped in Maria's frightened embrace as she caressed her hair and held her close. "Hey, hey, it's all right, I'm here." She smiled faintly, even though the kid couldn't see her expression, buried as her face was into the folds of her cowl. "Mr. Wolf's downstairs. He's making sure that evil man doesn't get to hurt anyone else."

As if to punctuate her words, an agonized wail echoed from the ground floor. Maria huddled closer to her.

"Did he do anything to you?" Naeera whispered gently, suppressing the anger the words brought with them. No point in scaring her any further. "Did he hurt you?"

She felt Maria shake her head and sighed. Divines be praised, at least she was just terrified and not harmed. Any other possible outcome brought only horror with it. Even in that cesspool that was Riften, she'd never had to deal with anything even remotely as monstrous. She'd served and heard of all sorts of revolting customers, but dear Dibella, none of them had ever asked for _children_.

Naeera pulled back a little to meet Maria's eyes. Those blue orbs of hers had reddened from tears, which drew clean lines on her soot-covered face. "Do you want me to get you to Mr. Wolf?"

Maria nodded frantically and took her hand. Naeera smiled back, helped her to her feet and edged around the corpse – dropping the knife back onto it. They walked down the corridor and descended every step slowly and carefully. The little girl had to be in shock; had the corridor been larger she would've carried her, even though Maria was just about one foot shorter than her. Who cared, she'd already done that.

She was glad there was no munching sound down there. She sure as Oblivion didn't want to see Eyes-Of-Silver eat a human corpse… or think about it, regretting the picture it conjured up into her mind. After the last step down she saw the werewolf stand proud over the Fiend's broken body, back as an Argonian and wearing his bloodied, cracked armor.

Naeera couldn't suppress a disappointed pout at that. Weren't werewolves supposed to be naked after turning?

Maria running towards him distracted her from such a newsworthy scenario. Eyes-Of-Silver spun around, met the child with a broad smile and enveloped her tightly in his arms. It would have been adorable and touching, weren't it for a couple of mauled Fiends, the small fires spreading all around them and the disembowelled animals. Instead, the whole situation tuned the scene down to extremely cute, and maybe a little bit unsettling.

Naeera hesitated a moment, but decided against joining them. Maria saw him as some sort of hero and long-lost friend – by the Gods, he was the closest thing the kid had to a father. She had no idea what tied them so close together, but what she knew was that she would've felt out of place in that hug. She just let a heartfelt smile crease her lips and kept her distance until Eyes-Of-Silver set Maria on the ground.

"Hey, Mr. Wolf." Naeera called, pleased to see his head snapped towards her at once. "All good?"

"I am perfectly fine, thank you." Eyes-Of-Silver told her, bowing his head slightly in acknowledgement. Maria still clung to his leg, and he ruffled her hair with his metallic hand. "Severe injuries, a haemorrage or two and general numbness are nothing a feast cannot mend."

Naeera did her best not to let her smile crack. She was sure he just meant the cows with 'feast'. Yeah, right, she had to be imagining those bite marks along Cook-Cook's armor. Those, the chunks of flesh missing from the body and the bloodstains on the big guy's mouth and neck.

Well, now it was official: Eyes-Of-Silver moderately freaked her out.

Her eyes fell onto the broad tank over his right shoulder, tracking the thick black wire that trailed to the tube on his left one – topped by a skull and a small flame.

Eyes-Of-Silver apparently noticed it and shrugged, as though he hadn't taken the weapon of an insane bastard as his own. "A mere trophy. It fit inside none of my pouches."

"Oh, at least it's not his skull." Naeera said noncommittally. She was sure he could read through her calm mask, but she didn't want to look afraid in front of Maria. "So… back to McCarran?"

"Yes, it appears to me that what resistance is left is dying down as we speak." Eyes-Of-Silver announced with more than a little uncertainty. "If the troops of the New California Republic or the Fiends are those being eliminated, I cannot say."

Naeera tried to focus on the sound of the distant fight. He was right, there was nowhere near the deafening roar of battle as before. It mostly came down to intermittent gunshots and one or two explosions in total. The Fiends had the numbers on their side, but they didn't know McCarran as well as the NCR. Had they been something other than a mass of bloodthirsty junkies, then she might have feared a vague resemblance of tactics from them.

"The Fiends don't have two Dragonborn, weapons and brains." Naeera told him, positively confident they'd had no trouble handling a bunch of crazy raiders. "Keram-Rei and Screaming-Eagle are fine, I'm sure." She clasped her hands and rubbed them together. "Shall we go?"

* * *

Maybe she'd spoken a bit too soon.

Camp McCarran had looked awful to her before, but now it was just… in ruins. Half of the walls had been torn apart by the Fiends, it wasn't hard to get in through one of the gaping holes in the base's defenses, and she could see scores of men shouting orders and fighting fires everywhere. Corpses littered the place – she was glad there were relatively few in light brown amidst the carpet of bare skin and ruined leather.

"I don't like this." Naeera murmured to herself. It wasn't for the carnage, it was an irrational sense of unease that clutched at her stomach. "Where are _they_?"

"Perhaps they are tending to their own wounds?" Eyes-Of-Silver suggested in what he must have thought to be a helpful way. Naeera shot him a glare, earning only a shrug. "Naeera, may I remind you my state when you approached me? Me, an imposing figure clad in Dragonbone armour, mortally wounded and disoriented." He grimaced earnestly. "Keram-Rei is lightly armoured, and Screaming-Eagle dons nothing but robes."

Maria made an uneasy little sound from her spot at Eyes-Of-Silver's tail.

Naeera shook her head in stubborness and marched towards the nearest soldier she spotted - just by the entrance of the building they'd entered before - ignoring the bodies she trampled. "Hey, you!"

The man fumbled for his weapon at once when he saw her, keeping it up and aimed towards her for a few seconds before he appeared to notice she wasn't an enemy. Not that she was actually worried about it: he was shaking far too much to hit her, and he was pointing it somewhere around Eyes-Of-Silver's shoulder. His own shoulders slumped with a sigh, but he still gripped the gun tight and never took his eyes off her as he nodded hastily.

"Where are the other two of us?" Naeera inquired - or rather, barked - as she jerked a thumb behind her back. "I had to get him and the kid back, long story." She looked around once more. "Where _are_ the others?"

The soldier recoiled at her tone, and worked his mouth a few times before speaking and making frantic, generic motions with his rifle towards them. "T-the… g-green and r-red ones?"

Naeera stared hard at him, eyes narrowed. "Have you seen any other reptiles around?"

The trooper didn't reply in any way other than wincing. He stared and gibbered at them for what felt enough for her to think about beating the information out of him. He was likely trying to find the words to express what he wanted to say and stop his shaking. "Infirmary. T-they're… there, at t-the infirmary, ju-just-"

"I don't know this fucking place!" Naeera snapped. It made the guy flinch hard and take a shivering step back, but it was all she could do to hide her fear. Infirmary. Eyes-Of-Silver had been right, then. "Take us there, and move it!"

The soldier whimpered something like an affirmation, whirled around and stalked off at a quick, unsteady pace. Naeera glanced over her shoulder to meet Eyes-Of-Silver's bleak (and somewhat vexed) expression. She shook her head with a snort, clenched her jaw and fell in step close behind the NCR trooper. They were fine. They had to be.

The inside was, if possible, in worse shape than the outside. Bullet holes peppered the entirety of the walls, often flanked by sprays of crimson and small craters. Half of the lights were out. Rows of wounded men and women were set upon stretchers on the ground and between chunks of debris for the entire length of the main hall. She saw a few soldiers with white armbands hurry to the moaning, administering some forms of medications or pulling a blanket over those that lay still. She focused on the back of the trooper leading them with an audible gulp. He was shaking even harder. She could hear his fast breaths.

"I-I don't k-know w-what… t-they were everywhere!" The man abruptly began, piquing her interest even through his stutter. He still gave no sign of letting go of his weapon. "H-he s-saved me. I… I t-thought…" He trailed off and sniffed audibly. "At t-the infirmary, you… y-you'll see."

Naeera exchanged a puzzled glance with Eyes-Of-Silver. He merely gave a shake of his head and mouthed 'shock'. She nodded, looking back in front of her. Her heart wasn't helping, and all the people here made her nervous. What if one of them had really ended up half-dead on a little bed?

She sighed in relief when they entered a corridor to the right side. There were no bodies there, no dying, no coughing, no suffering and no thoughts of any of her companions ending up like that. Just old and grimy beige tiles and a few doors. She… she just couldn't handle that sight, it made her feel so useless. There was nothing she could do there; and if she tried to, the only reaction would've been fear.

The soldier brought them to a halt in front of a white wooden door, with a red cross painted on a plaque to its right. He vaguely pointed at the door with a shivering finger and redder eyes than before, cleared his throat and just walked away the same way he'd come – bent and broken.

Naeera eyed him for a moment before setting her eyes on the small brass doorknob. What would have awaited her when she pulled it open? She put a hand on it and hesitated. Did she really want to know? Damn, she didn't. She sure as Oblivion didn't. Was it the girls? Or Keram-Rei? Gods, even the thought of that bitch Screaming-Eagle on the brink of death was enough to send a chill down her spine. The mage was an obnoxious, self-righteous cow, but… she didn't really mean it when she hoped she died, it was just her anger speaking, she didn't actually want her to-

A hand that could've easily crushed her skull gently pressed against her shoulder. She sighed, straightened up under the strength it lended her and gripped the handle tight. She waited a second or two to steel herself, then turned it.

The room beyond was surprisingly clean, carrying a faint smell of nothingness and disinfectant with it. Everything was white and brightly lit by strange lights embedded into the roof. She saw a couple of drawers, a dozen beds along the sides, a mirror, and a few other ceramic pieces of furniture she'd never imagined could exist. It seemed empty, save for Veronica and Phoenix sitting over in a corner. They were holding hands.

Was she distracting herself with all the details on some unconscious level, too scared to see what the two humans were staring at? She closed her eyes, aimed her head roughly at the middle of the room, and opened them back.

There was a strange table. It was made of metal and bolted to the ground, with a large circular light hanging over it. A droplet of blood occasionally trickled down from the edge. She saw Screaming-Eagle's boots behind the table's only support, planted on the ground along with her staff. Naeera gritted her teeth and pursed her lips at the green tail dangling, barely moving, from the table.

Keram-Rei lay on it.

Naeera's breath came back when she noticed the slow rise and fall of his chest. He was unconscious and stripped down to his waist, his head to the mage's side because his horns wouldn't let him face the roof. His scales were set in patterns of various shades of green, none of them marred by blood – save for a circle of scar tissue on his right shoulder and a hole the size of her thumb in his gut. Screaming-Eagle's right hand hovered a couple of inches over it, her face twisted by an effort of focus and will as she clutched her staff with her left. The thief thought she was muttering some sort of incantation to heal him, but then she actually paid attention to the words.

"… immense, pig-headed idiot!" Screaming-Eagle growled out. The only emotions tinging her trail of insults, though, were worry and fear. "Why don't you ever listen! Oh, Divines damn you, Keram-Rei…"

Naeera must have made some frightened little sound with the first step she took, because the mage's eyes snapped up to meet hers at once. She tried to power through the mix of terror and panic, and opened and closed her mouth a few times. "W-what… what happened?"

"One of those maniacs shot him twice." Screaming-Eagle didn't snarl, didn't bark – she sighed. All of her hostility was gone, replaced by a strange and impossible semblance of calm. "The bullets cracked and pierced his chestplate like glass. I managed to stop the bleeding, at least. The first one was easy to remove, but I need absolute focus to extract the other without further damage."

"Gods…" Naeera murmured, shocked. She was only mildly aware of Eyes-Of-Silver crouching through the door, tailed by Maria. "Is he… I-I mean, will he…"

"Yes, he will survive." Screaming-Eagle assured her with a strained nod. She managed a faint smile. "He's too much of an idiot to realize when he's dying, anyway."

Naeera gave a weak nod of her head and staggered to sit down on the empty chair next to Phoenix. The girl's face was as flushed as ever, but she wasn't crying now. The thief gave her hand a reassuring squeeze and deflated into her seat, the weight of the entire day crashing into her like a tidal wave. Oh, thank the Gods he was going to make it… she had feared the worst ever since she'd set foot inside the base. Now they just had to wait, and everything would just… turn out for the best.

Nobody would've noticed if she… closed her eyes for a moment, right? She was exhausted. Her lids felt heavy as lead. Only a minute, no more, enough to focus and rest a bit. She sank a little more into the hard chair as though it were a king-sized bed, blinked slower and slower and-

"Wake up!" Phoenix urged her with a whisper, excitement clear in her voice.

Naeera shook her head and blearily rubbed at her eyes. Screaming-Eagle was pretty much in the same place as before. Maria was holding the mage's hand for some reason she didn't really get. Eyes-Of-Silver was standing at the table's feet. Opposite from Screaming-Eagle were Veronica and Phoenix. The girl was staring at her intently, motioning for her to get there at once. Come on, she had just blinked, what was happening that was so important already?

Keram-Rei groaned.

Her sight shot right back into focus at the sound. She jumped to her feet, all of her exhaustion momentarily forgotten, and scrambled over to the mage's side. If Screaming-Eagle didn't like it, she gave no sign of it.

Naeera noticed the scar on the shoulder was gone, and there was no trace of the hole in the battlemage's belly. She couldn't help but smile. A glance up was all she needed to confirm her thoughts; everyone was smiling to a certain degree, even Screaming-Eagle.

Keram-Rei's eyes fluttered open uncertainly, revealing sleepy blue irises. He peered around for a moment, but he didn't dare move his head. Ultimately he licked his lips, and frowned faintly. "Uh… the fuck happened?"

"You apparently saved the driver we met earlier this evening only for a Fiend to subsequently shoot you twice." Eyes-Of-Silver cheerfully provided, always as tactful and delicate as a Draugr when it came to words. "It seems your chestplate acted as little more than enchanted and arcane glass."

Keram-Rei inhaled slowly, pursing his lips and closing his eyes again. "I got shot straight through my armor."

"Wait, you don't remember?" Phoenix inquired quizzically, apprehension lining her face.

"No, I remember… pretty hard to forget something like that." Keram-Rei grunted. He snorted in amusement and scratched at his feathers – and this time, he used his horns as impromptu supports for his head. "I just don't _understand_. And it's driving me mad. My armor's made of Stalhrim, how…"

"Hey, have you had a look at Eyes-Of-Silver?" Naeera chimed in, giggling. Hard not to, given the fact he'd finally woken up and given his dazed expression at the werewolf's damaged armor.

"Our plates are extremely resilient against swords, mauls, maces, axes, and so on and so forth, because that is quite simply what they are supposed to do – protect against such weapons, even arrows and bolts if the design is intelligent enough." Eyes-Of-Silver explained before Keram-Rei could stammer out something in denial. "How could have I possibly imagined the threat bullets might have one day posed to me when I forged my armour? 'Tis easy: I could _not_."

Keram-Rei wanted to argue with him. It showed in his narrow eyes, in his stubborn scowl, in how he tried to sit up to glare at him better.

Screaming-Eagle took her staff and gently placed its tip on his sternum, pushing him back into the table. "Later. You have lost blood, you are weak."

Naeera fought down the impulse to laugh. His expression of childlike surprise and his docile submission were something she'd never expected to see on him. Screaming-Eagle acting like a caring mom – or wife, based on what Keram-Rei had confessed her – wasn't helping in the slightest. Still, through a combination of sheer will and not wanting to spoil their cute little moment together, the thief masked a chuckle as a cough.

Keram-Rei looked like he'd forgotten how to speak for a moment, wide-eyed and lost. "I, uh… well… thank you?" He made a couple of vague gestures towards himself. "For… saving me, I mean."

"I'm not the only one to thank." Screaming-Eagle retorted with a trace of amusement. Now she was smiling. It was kind, and tender, and plain fucking _weird_ on her. She was supposed to smirk and sneer all the time, not be someone likeable. "I've had some help."

Two small hands shyly took one of Keram-Rei's. "I'm happy you're ok."

Naeera leaned forwards a little to see Maria holding hands with the battlemage and smile faintly through the mask of dirt she wore. Even after all the shit she'd just gone through, showing in her tattered little green dress and clumpy hair, she still managed to be positive and absolutely adorable. This kid was a lot wiser than her.

Keram-Rei gave her a broad, heartfelt grin and nodded his appreciation. "Well, thank you, too."

Naeera was about to say something about how sweet this all was when someone knocked on the door and opened it. She raised her eyes just in time to see Colonel Hsu and the same shocked soldier who had brought them there stand in the doorway.

The officer nodded briskly at them with the first step he took inside. His uniform wasn't all that ruined, just dirtier and a little blood-smeared near the collar of his shirt. A thin line had been cut on his lips; it wasn't bleeding anymore, though.

Naeera was about to express her confusion, but he cleared his throat and motioned for the trooper to follow in. "Before speaking, I and Private Banner would like to know the conditions of-"

"I'm fine, thanks." Keram-Rei interrupted him and waved him off as Phoenix and Veronica stepped aside. "Screaming-Eagle fixed me up."

Banner's eyebrows were lost under his helmet when he spotted no wounds on him. He had looked kind of familiar, come to think of it. Sandy hair, nondescript and average in everything… yes, it was him. "H-how…"

"Cranial trauma, shock, and bruising, as the removal of his armour demonstrated." Eyes-Of-Silver cut him off, each and every one of his fangs showing in his false smile. "'Twas nothing to worry about."

"Well, I'm glad you're fine." The Colonel told Keram-Rei, ignoring the soldier at his side and his frown. "On behalf of the men and women under my command, I wanted to thank you all for your help in defending McCarran and in your previous rescue of First Recon. You have done the Republic a great service by…" He trailed off when he narrowed his eyes on Eyes-Of-Silver. "Where did you get that flamer?"

"From a rather bold and foolish Fiend who thought the abduction of Maria would go unpunished." Eyes-Of-Silver amiably answered. He licked his bloodstained lips for emphasis – something that sent shivers down the spine of the others present. "Regrettably, I do not know the name of such whoreson bastard."

"I think I do, and I can tell you your popularity with the NCR and the whole Vegas will benefit from this." Colonel Hsu sighed out in relief. "You have killed one of the four major Fiend leaders, maybe the absolute worst of them. This only adds to your reward."

Naeera felt her interest converge entirely on what he had to say next. She tilted her head, a brow raised. "Reward?"

"We're going to need every man, weapon and dollar we have to rebuild here, so we can't pay you directly." Hsu answered. He sounded honestly sorry about it. "What we can give you is permission to enter and leave McCarran at any given time. You'll always be welcome here. You can stay for the night to rest and recover and, come the morning, Banner has volunteered to drive you to your original destination – with my full approval."

"We've got to get to the Strip." Phoenix stated, determined. Her posture had changed accordingly; it was harder, more confident. It had to be, when it came to revenge. "Is it possible?"

"O-of course!" Banner replied enthusiastically, grinning like an idiot and nodding.

"Can we stay here in the infirmary for the night?" Screaming-Eagle asked with concern. "I need to stay close to Keram-Rei, in case it's worse than I thought."

"I'm afraid I can't help you with that, we've got too many wounded, and some are grave; we'll need the supplies and the equipment here." The Colonel shook his head. "First Recon will be more than glad to house you in their quarters, though. We're on high alert, and they've offered for the night shift to guard the base."

Well, considering those beds were going to be awful compared to her own anyway, at least Naeera didn't get to sleep in a place reserved for dying and suffering people. A quick glance to the others and she saw they more or less shared her same sentiment towards this infirmary. She turned back to Hsu and replied with a shrug. "We'll be fine."

Colonel Hsu gave them an appreciative bow of his head and motioned for them to fall in line. The two humans were the first, followed by Naeera. Screaming-Eagle, instead, stood by her patient for a moment.

Keram-Rei let out a bitter chuckle, folding his arms across his chest and swinging his tail. "And I'm just supposed to crawl there, right?"

Eyes-Of-Silver cracked his neck and knuckles in response. As the rest of them followed the Colonel outside, he grabbed and wrapped something next to his feet in a brown leather bundle. He tied it to his waist and stared down at the battlemage flatly. "Do not make this any more awkward than it already is."

Naeera's insticts kicked in. She burst into giggles, whirling around to make sure she wouldn't lose anything.

The werewolf placed his hands under the back of Keram-Rei's knees and under his shoulder blades, then lifted him as nimbly as if he were his bride.

This time, she laughed out loud.

"Couldn't you carry me, like, over your shoulders?" Keram-Rei growled through gritted teeth, his eyes alarmed. "It looks like we're married!"

"Oh, yes, where my chipped armour could pierce your exposed scales and my horns would stab you!" Eyes-Of-Silver murmured with irritation, half of his fangs bared. "It sounds bloody brilliant!"

Neither of them spoke again as Naeera kept laughing. It was the only happy sound around a base ravaged by a raider warband, which had the obvious consequence of drawing all attention on them. The more soldiers glared at them, the more she laughed, the more the two males probably wanted to brutally murder her. She didn't really care. She found it funny.

By the time she calmed down and only occasionally hiccupped chuckles, they reached a part of McCarran similar to where she'd found Phoenix and Veronica. The round hall was almost identical, with the same whitish walls, the same beige floor, and the same enormous windows. She counted great deal less military brown bunks though, only nine of them.

Wait.

Why would there be nine, if First Recon was made up of seven people?

Naeera rubbed at her eyes and yawned. She just then forgot the question and remembered her fatigue hadn't just magically gone away. There was still a long day of walking, fights, and general tension to be reckoned with that didn't leave her much room for choice. She was going to have to actually sleep tonight.

Hsu and Banner saluted and walked back the way they'd come. The party either dropped on random beds with their clothes still on, or tried taking their outer layer of clothing off and _then_ dropped on random beds. Except for Eyes-Of-Silver; he just left Keram-Rei on a bunk, kissed Maria goodnight and sat cross-legged on the floor.

Naeera spared him a curious glance before another yawn forced her eyes closed. She stretched a little, saw everyone was in a different state of exhaustion, and took the closest bed she could find. It was hard, it smelled odd, and the fabric was rough, but she couldn't afford to be picky. Taking her Nightingale armor was too much effort for her at the moment, and someone might have gotten offended at how she wore nothing else underneath it, so she just rolled the blanket up and slithered inside.

Already her talons ripped through the mattress and the sheet covering it, but she didn't really care about that. The owner was just going to be grateful he or she was still alive to rant about the lower part of the bed being torn to bits.


	18. New Vegas

Eyes-Of-Silver woke with a start when a little weight shifted across his lap.

His eyes fell down in concern, and the sigh he let out blew a mop of red hair backwards. He held his breath, refraining from sighing again in reflief when Maria didn't wake. By Hircine, he had put her in bed for less than five minutes before she'd crawled down and fallen asleep onto him. Well, he certainly didn't mind. Not after last night.

Her little arms were halfway around his chest, as if trying to hug him in place, and her head rested just below the plates over his heart. He delicately ran a hand through her hair to calm himself down. She was so tiny, so frail, so defenceless… she was no different from a ragdoll when in his arms. Just over four feet of little girl. She had no hope out in the wastes.

Just as well that he was there.

He couldn't help but smile at her serene breaths. Who could have ever guessed he was going to find her in that damnable camp? Curiosity and chance had driven him there, nothing more. He had gone there expecting an anomaly, and he had been rewarded with a spectacular little girl. Hadn't it been for that little toy of hers, who knew how she might have reacted. He would have been a monster, a beast, a demonic creature. Instead, he was just Mr. Wolf.

To think those misbegotten, whoreson gits had frightened and abused her so made his blood boil in his veins. He stopped the growl that was already bubbling up in his chest. It took a special kind of deviants for that. She was just eight years old, _eight_, yet the horrors she must have witnessed were enough for a lifetime and change. As soon as he could, he was going to find them and split them open, feast on their entrails, rip their skulls from their spines and crack them with his teeth. He was going to laugh through all of it. Maniacs, hopeless abominations, the Fiends and the Legion all.

Eyes-Of-Silver closed his eyes for a moment, flexing his hands open and closed slowly. He was going to let those feelings fuel him later. Now he could only be glad he'd met with Naeera. He had to be more careful with Maria. Never get her out of his sight, or any other two of his companions'. Gods, if he had lost her…

Maria stirred in her sleep, dispelling his thoughts and making him focus on the present. Cute as this may be, she was going to have one Oblivion of a back pain when she woke up. With as much gentleness as his oversized limbs allowed him, he nestled her, slowly kneeling and then rising to his full height in the darkness – darkness his eyes pierced with preternatural ease. There was a free bunk just ahead of him, the one she had vacated last night.

All it took him was one step to get there. He cradled her with his right, authentic arm and pulled back the blanket with his ebony prosthesis. As though he were handling a box of invaluable Dwarven artifacts, he set her onto the mattress. She whined faintly at the parting, but as soon as he tucked her in she rolled around with a satisfied sniffle and went back to sleep.

He raised her covers over her shoulder and caressed her hair once more, then sighed and focused back on the there and then.

Eyes-Of-Silver saw all were sleeping soundly beneath their blankets and breathing softly, peacefully - save for an empty bed and Naeera. She was sprawled on hers, part of it and its covers torn to ribbons, and she sounded very much like a lumber mill during working hours. He smiled at such a small female emitting such a loud noise.

He pulled himself up from the floor, tried cracking his vertebrae and joints as silently as possible, and dusted at the armour plates he had kept on during the night. He thought of it as caution. His grin turned into a grimace when his fingers touched the chips and holes in his handiwork. The carvings were ruined. Not beyond repair, not for a blacksmith of his skill, but they required time and materials he simply didn't have.

Besides, what was the point of repairing an armour which here could only defend him in melee and against small bullets? He hefted the 'flamer' device he had taken as a trophy and strapped it over his shoulder, thoughtful. The rifles of the NCR soldiers were enough to crack his armour. He knew for a fact there were much larger weapons to fear. As long as his enemies came at him with either cold weapons or those interesting focused beams of light, he was going to be fine.

Bah, no point in worsening his mood this early in the morning, so he crossed his axes onto his back as if to block those particular thoughts. The horizon was beginning to brighten up, passing from the deep blue hues of night to an array of oranges, pinks and azures. Not long before dawn broke. He could see the light glinting and shimmering over the countless windows of the buildings, now closer than ever; a few miles at best. The tower Phoenix had referred to as the Lucky 38 rose from their midst like a spear, as opposed to the shorter, more ungainly blocks that were the other dozen or so.

Only then, he sniffed the air and noticed something was wrong. Three things, to be precise.

Large cantaloupes, dry-cured ham and arugula.

Keram-Rei sat cross-legged in the middle of the room. In front of him was a plate the size of a small parma shield, and he was working on the melons with a short knife. He cut them in large slices, peeled away the green-grey skin and wrapped them up in ham with methodical precision. As a decoration, he dropped a leaf or two of arugula on top. He lifted his eyes and nodded a greeting. "'Morning."

"Good morning to you." Eyes-Of-Silver hummed in the lowest voice he could manage. He saw the web of cracks spreading from the two holes on the battlemage's chestplate, and was surprised to see they were hardly any different from the patterns on broken glass. Quite unsettling, all things considered. Stalhrim was supposedly as resilient as ebony. "May I ask the reason for your earliness?"

"We haven't had dinner, I'm working on a nutritious breakfast." Keram-Rei whispered back. "Almost done. It's a recipe I've picked up in Southern Cyrodill." He shrugged as he cut open the last melon; judging by the portions of the meal, it appeared that was the third one he'd used. "Technically it's an appetizer, but it's the only thing I could make without waking up anyone."

"Save for me, I suppose." Eyes-Of-Silver muttered with a little smirk. The first rays of morning hit the back of his head a moment after that. He lifted his battleaxes, clamped them together, and showed the large weapon to the battlemage. "May I wake the others?"

"Wait." Keram-Rei stopped him. When he was done with the last slices of cantaloupe, he cracked his knuckles and gave him a thumbs-up. "Go ahead."

Eyes-Of-Silver replied by rotating the axe upside down. For a moment he almost felt bad about waking up Maria. He then slammed its head three times against the floor. He was rather satisfied with the way the hollow sound echoed inside the large room. Phoenix fell from her bed with a yelp, whereas Veronica was mildly alarmed and Maria just sat up and rubbed at her eyes. Screaming-Eagle groaned in annoyance, but ultimately crawled out of her blanket.

Naeera rolled over and blissfully kept on snoring.

"What is wrong with you?" Phoenix snarled, brushing her black hair from her face. "I thought we- wait, what's that?"

"No point in telling you, I think everything I've used is extinct here." Keram-Rei sighed as he picked up a slice from the tray. "But we've skipped dinner, so we'll have to eat a lot of it." He rolled his eyes at the look the three humans gave him, grumbled something and took out a large bite.

The rest of them rapidly sat in a circle around the plate and began eating with assorted sounds of delight – the loudest and most appreciative coming from Screaming-Eagle, oddly enough.

Eyes-Of-Silver grimaced in distaste at their breakfast. As a general rule, he tended to avoid anything that had been cooked, prepared or otherwise manipulated in any way. He had nothing to fear, of course, since his Argonian blood made him naturally resilient against poisons and diseases. It had more to do with others _touching_ his food. It was his, not theirs. That was why he favoured hunting down prey. He had to work for it (not that much, given his size and strength), and there was a rare satisfaction in the meat and blood of a fresh kill he found nowhere else. _He_ was the only one allowed to feast then.

Yesterday's dinner had been particularly gratifying, for example. A shame for the chemicals polluting the Fiend's blood; he would have gladly done without them.

He repressed a grin as he unclasped his axes and set them onto his back once again. He failed to do so when he saw Maria beaming in his direction, and settled for smiling back. Each tear in her green dress – green dress _he_ had given her – and every inch of soot on her face shouted at him that the bastard hadn't suffered enough. He should have flensed the flesh from his bones for just having dared to take her, he should have skinned him alive and made a screaming emblem of his face to strap to his pauldron, he-

"Aren't you hungry, Mr. Wolf?" Maria innocently asked him, pointing at a lonely slice sitting in front of her. The cantaloupe juice trailing from a corner of her mouth went unnoticed. "It's really good!"

"No, little cub." Eyes-Of-Silver politely told the little girl with a nod. Her sight and voice washed away the murderous thoughts like pure, cleansing rain. "I am fine."

Maria giggled at the name and picked up the particular slice she'd left. She needed it more than him, at any rate. He could always sneak away and look for some creature to satiate an eventual hunger.

In the meantime, Naeera had stopped snoring. He looked over his shoulder to see the petite thief stretch, yawn and huff her feathers out of her eyes. She shambled out of her bed, stretching a little more and gouging another rent in the mattress, and frowned at the others having breakfast. "Hey! Why didn't you wake me up?"

"I tried." Eyes-Of-Silver sighed. His words went unheard, though, as Naeera was soon enraptured by Keram-Rei's recipe.

* * *

It took them around five minutes to be done with their breakfast and gather their things. Eyes-Of-Silver was somewhat astonished by their voracity. In that time, all of them had eaten about half a melon each - Maria included. Divines, he was more restrained than that when he turned.

So he followed the group through the now-awakened military base. The smell of blood and bodily fluids had already grown dull in his nostrils. Tension was palpable. All the soldiers they came across held their weapons at the ready, tight across their chests, as if the Fiends could assault them any second. He could understand. The NCR here had been weakened, the troops were tired and shocked or wounded. Optimal conditions to finish the job. The place looked almost empty.

He expected the cold gazes and fearful glances cast in their direction. They weren't humans, they were monsters, freaks of nature that didn't belong there – and the moment they had come, the Fiends had launched an attack en masse. It took a mild effort to decide stares weren't worth gritting his teeth over. Those soldiers had all the reasons not to trust them. Instead, he particularly enjoyed the awed mutters about this 'Cook-Cook's' demise at the sight of his new flamethrower.

This was further proved by the occasional trooper breaking off from the rest and saluting as they passed. Saving Banner was bound to have boosted Keram-Rei's standing among the troops, and Hsu had mentioned the Fiend he'd used as a chew toy was particularly hated. Again, this was confirmed by the increase in amazed comments as he passed.

Besides, everyone seemed to find the sight of him holding Maria's hand adorable. He hated to think of her in such terms, but he also had to remember everyone used children as a metre of appreciation: if a child liked and trusted something, then that thing had to be inherently good. A great hero was always supposed to be good with children, as it were.

Eyes-Of-Silver found himself pleased at the prospect of building a reputation anew. Already, his first fights had granted him a deal of respect he was more than satisfied with. Word was going to spread they were friends of the Republic, perhaps a bit more exaggerated to increase credibility in their powers, and then more and more people were steadily going to rely on them. Besides, he would just be a big Argonian for the inhabitants of the wasteland once they came to know him, not an enormous, unnatural beast to avoid at all costs.

Well, all right, he could see that happening anyway – but not as much as it did in Tamriel. Besides, fear never hurt. Whereas people understood respect, lowlives and vermin understood fear. He was fine with that.

He allowed himself a smile as he dropped a bit to pass through the entrance. Thank the Gods the glass and most of the door were gone, he would have surely broken a pane or two with his tail, what with his mind being so busy.

The outside stuck out in stark contrast with his positive attitude. He saw a few rows of bodies covered in white sheets laying on the cracked ground, around four score dead of the NCR. A few of the survivors knelt before them. If in prayer he didn't know, but certainly in mourning. Hadn't they been a few hundred at best, and hadn't many of those soldiers been injured, the losses might have been acceptable. This way, a good third of their troopers were dead, and another was out of commission for the time being.

He had to admit, the remaining ones had done a sterling work of cleaning up the debris, putting out the fires and constructing temporary defenses with small bags filled with sand where the main walls had been breached. The smell of broken bodies hung in the air; the wind carried it from well behind the McCarran complex. To that stench were mixed charred flesh and smoke. Eh, fair enough. He would have left the Fiends out to rot and dessiccate under the desert sun, a fine meal for the local fauna, but he supposed piling and burning them was a fine way of disposing them and containing any disease they carried. Much more rapid, to boot.

Unlike last evening, he noticed there was just one vehicle in the broad space between the base and the gates. It growled, vibrated and grumbled idly, the pipes alongside the desert tan doors trembling visibly without doing nothing. At first he had thought they were supposed to belch out steam or fumes, given their shape and similarity to certain Dwarven constructs, but apparently they didn't.

On the whole, understanding and replicating one of this world's vehicles' design would bring them countless benefits, and indefinite hours of fun to him. Perhaps if he were to copy a smaller one, meant only for a few people's transport and not teams of soldiers…

"Hey!" A perky man called by the truck's front grille, disrupting his thoughts, waving enthusiastically and all but jumping up and down. "Over here!"

In front of him Keram-Rei gave one wave back, and beckoned for the others to follow as he closed the distance. Eyes-Of-Silver saw the battlemage was sincerely glad to see the soldier well. If the man was going to keep up with his perkiness, it wasn't long before Keram-Rei grew tired of him, he knew it.

"Banner!" The younger male answered with a grin and a shake of his hand. "Glad to see you're fine."

Eyes-Of-Silver ignored the niceties they shared and made a beeline for the back of the truck. He effortlessly helped Maria in climbing the ramp, then hauled himself up with an almost familiar groan of strained suspensions. The bed lowered an inch or two as he tried to sit down onto one of the tiny benches.

In a few surgical maneuvers, he had both managed not to destroy the seats on the left side of that cramped vehicle and give the females, Argonian and human alike, space enough to walk past him and sit next to the cab. Maria clambered up over his armour and took place onto his lap, as he sooner or later had to get used to. In front of him, Veronica, Phoenix and Screaming-Eagle were at ease, while Naeera sat close to him.

At his quizzical glance, the thief just gave him a scowl. "What, I can't sit next to you?"

Eyes-Of-Silver looked at her for a brief moment. He decided not to bring up the way she had stared at him after he had feasted and answered with a shrug. "Be my guest."

Shortly afterwards, Keram-Rei clambered up. He sat next to Screaming-Eagle, made a headcount that to him felt useless, and nodded towards the werewolf. "Punch the cab three times. It's the signal to go."

Eyes-Of-Silver clenched his ebony fist and hit the cab once, twice, and thrice. The truck's engine roared to life as it rattled, then steadied into motion. He hoped the driver didn't mind the dents he'd put in his vehicle.

The gates to McCarran creaked – to him, screamed - open, causing him to clench his jaw and flinch. His head was starting to ache from the proximity to the engine, and two enormous rusty doors squealing open weren't helping in any way. Was there absolutely no way of insulating that damnable thing's noise? Or oiling the gates, at the very least?

Getting more nervous than necessary wasn't going to get him anywhere, so he sighed, raising his eyes to meet Keram-Rei's. "How long shall it take us to reach our destination?"

"We actually talked about this with Banner a minute ago." Keram-Rei told him with a smile and good mood his migraine didn't share. "We're about five miles away from Freeside, six from the Strip. A quarter of an hour and we're there."

Eyes-Of-Silver roughed out a grin and nodded his thanks, before he finally decided he was just going to try and distract himself in any way he could. Tinkering with any item he held in his pouches was out of the question, too much noise to focus. He had no way of repairing his equipment, nor of tending to it. Reading… hmm, no, he was going to feel queasy. Mating was… bah, why did he even consider that? Maria was sitting on his lap, by Mara.

He abandoned the thoughts as soon as Veronica looked at him and the other Argonians. He frowned slightly when she cleared her throat. "So, what's the deal with you, anyway?"

Eyes-Of-Silver's frown deepened. "I beg your pardon?"

"What are you?" Veronica asked again, spreading her hands. If there was any possible way of getting that smile away from her face, he had no idea. "I get it that you're reptiles, you're called Argonians and that you're not from around here, but… where are you from?"

"For the NCR, Canada." Keram-Rei told her, before he shrugged and sat down more comfortably. "Phoenix knows where we come from." He chuckled. "And trust me, it's a lot farther from the Mojave than you could imagine."

"Then where?" Veronica tried, uncertain yet excited all the same. "Brazil? Argentina? Europe? Russia? Asia?" She paused for a moment, at a loss for places to spit out at random. "The… I dunno, the_ South Pole_?"

Eyes-Of-Silver's brow furrowed at the mention of those names. Were those lands she was talking about? Continents? Or just regions and cities? Most important: they had been travelling together for about a day, why did she ask about them just now?

"We could do this all day, and you still wouldn't get it right." Keram-Rei gloated with all the smugness and cunning of a ten year-old boy. "Come on-"

"We hail from a world called Nirn." Screaming-Eagle annoyedly cut him off. "Don't ask how we got here, because we do not know exactly. Let's just say we touched something that perhaps we shouldn't have."

Eyes-Of-Silver wasn't too sure about that himself, either. What puzzled him the most was that he prided himself with a fair knowledge of the Dwemer. Had he reached this place just by twisting a bloody valve in the Aetherium Forge?

For one moment, he feared Veronica's jaw might have fallen down. She stared at them, wide-eyed and dazed, until she recollected herself enough to flash them an even broader grin. "I can't even- you're _alien_ fantasy deathclaws!" She laughed in disbelief. "How awesome is that?"

Screaming-Eagle blinked twice. "Just… that?"

"I know I should've asked sooner about it, but…" Veronica hesitated, then leaned forwards to stare at the mage better. "Tell me about your world!"

"It's a world, Veronica." Naeera chuffed out, scowling. "It's _huge_. Where are we even supposed to begin?"

Eyes-Of-Silver waited for that moment of indecision to make his move. He raised a brow, held Maria a little more comfortably and smiled. "How about a brief recount of our adventures in Skyrim? With explanations anywhere they may be needed, of course." He cleared his throat. "You see, our tale started in Helgen…"

* * *

"… And that's how we saved each of our worlds for the third time in a few months." Keram-Rei finished, once he was done describing the fight against Alduin with sounds made with his mouth and poor impressions of the Son of Akatosh; and once Screaming-Eagle had ended masking her chuckles with coughs, too.

Eyes-Of-Silver had to admit though, it was all the more interesting when it was told that way.

Maria clapped with great enthusiasm once their story was over. The little girl had left the place on his lap to have a better view of him and the others as soon as they had begun, choosing the floor of the flatbed instead. Suffice to say, her expression of disbelief was much less extreme than Veronica's.

The young woman's eyes were wide with childlike astonishment; she herself was in a bliss, mouth set in a broad beam. She supported her chin with her hands, her elbows supporting against her knees. "That… was probably the single coolest thing I've ever heard." She shook her head back into a semblance of composure and spread her arms. "That's even better than most books I've read!"

"Oh, I trust there shall be plenty of books recounting our tale in painfully wrong details." Eyes-Of-Silver interjected, garnering a few grunts of amused assent from the Argonians and a laugh from the humans. "But say, Phoenix, did our yarn seem dull to you?" He raised a brow. "You were hardly as interested as Veronica or Maria."

The girl shrugged a shoulder and flicked her wrist. Oddly enough, she had kept quiet and had just smiled for those ten or fifteen minutes. "Screaming-Eagle and Keram-Rei told me about it. Well, Screaming-Eagle made me _see_ it."

At that, both of his scarred eyebrows went up when he looked at the mage. It had to be some form of Illusion magic, to let her experiences be shared with another mind. Yes, something he was never going to even think about doing.

It wasn't long before he lost interest in how Screaming-Eagle tried to explain its functioning. Instead, what caught his attention was the miasma they were approaching. People. The air was dry here, and he smelled no source of water of any form; perhaps the inhabitants took theirs from underground piping systems or aqueducts, if they managed to make such a thing function. His hearing wasn't of much help. Between the engine's tamed roar and the general silence of the ruins around, he didn't get much.

The truck slowed down to a halt in the minute that followed. The distinct scent of old metal hung in the air, along with the much less pleasant stench of dirty men close by and some form of chemical. He counted four guards to a gate of sorts. It was the only logical response to their presence there. Beyond those two slabs of rust, his sense of smell started to fail him. Too many smells intertwined, altering his perception. Even out here he wasn't that sure about what his nostrils brought him.

Eyes-Of-Silver still had his hearing, though. As the remainder of his party looked around in puzzlement, he brought a finger to his lips and silenced any possible discussion. Nobody moved after the gesture.

Footsteps approached the front of the truck; judging by cadence and volume, just one person. The other guards' weapons didn't clack ready as the man walked up to the driver's door. The series of small clangs told him he was rapping his knuckles against the metal, whistling lowly. "Another of you soldier boys, huh?"

Eyes-Of-Silver felt like cringing at the slow, odd, _dragged_ pronounciation of his words. This could not possibly be a natural accent. This man was pretending, and badly at that.

"We are on official NCR business, King." Banner answered methodically and without emotion. On the other hand, his military drone impression was fairly good. "Open the gates. We need to get to the Strip, orders from McCarran."

'King', whatever sort of name that was, let out a chuckle. Leather rustled in a way that suggested he'd raised his hands in surrender. "Alright, alright, wet rag. Boys, open the gate!"

Some hastened steps, a few grunts and a spine-tingling creak of metal later, their vehicle's engine growled out louder. There was no more exchange after that, and Banner drove through the open gates and into the walled-off city beyond. The walls were no different from the heaps of junk of McCarran. Eyes-Of-Silver caught a glimpse of light blue pants, black leather and striped shirts before the guards vanished behind the closing entrance with a dull noise.

Everyone else released a collective breath.

"That was… close." Phoenix sighed out, chuckling nervously and looking at each of them. "I mean, what would've happened if they'd wanted to check?"

Considering they must have had some sort of weapon and they sounded nothing like parts of an army and, as such, had no discipline, the guards would have most likely shot at them in panic before any of them could react or protect themselves. They might have been grievously wounded or killed with alarming ease.

He wanted to notify his thoughts and impressions, but Keram-Rei beat him to it. "Good thing they haven't."

A chorus of relieved nods and grunts of assent was the reply.

Eyes-Of-Silver tried to look at the outside, but the dull, impossibly damaged ruins through which people in foetid rags trudged or strolled aimlessly was enough to tell him this location wasn't interesting. The inhabitants of this place looked worse than the bandit clan which had established itself in what remained of Helgen, only with less weapons and reasons to hold on to their dignity. There weren't many passers-by to be seen, they mostly sat in the morning's shade or clustered by small stands made of tables or car wrecks which appeared to sell… food of sorts, he supposed.

He blinked in disbelief when he saw what was on one, but by the time he'd reopened his eyes the stand had a scrawny woman standing in front of it with a child.

Had he seen squirrels there? Or… by Hircine's bollocks, dog-sized _cockroaches_?

The rest of the ride was slow and uneventful. Nobody from the outside gazed at the inside of the truck, saving them a great deal of trouble. Why, the small crowd that gathered here and there seemed to part before them like waves in front of a prow, if their distance from the middle of the road was anything to go by. Apart from a far gunshot's warped echo or the quiet murmur all around them, there wasn't much to be heard. His nose was as confused as ever in the thick of the fumes, though, and he even sneezed at one point.

The wind changed, and the scents it brought only added to the olfactory chaos he was enduring. He was starting to feel dizzy; they had to be getting closer to this New Vegas Strip. Eyes-Of-Silver gritted his teeth and closed his eyes for a moment. If he could just… block it out, he was going to be fine and-

A sudden brake made his shoulder bump against the truck's cab, the whine of the wheels causing him to lose whatever focus he was trying to achieve. Veronica hit the metal surface with a greater force, only for Phoenix to all but fall onto her. The girl parted from her with unsurprising reluctance.

Something like metal squeaked and overlapped from different positions in front of their vehicle. He counted five. A little wheel supporting a heavy weight churned the gravel and dust over the cracked asphalt, up until it was a few feet from the truck.

"_Scanning…_" An inhuman voice blared, making his scales crawl a bit. Its synthetic buzzing reminded him of the small sentries back at REPCONN, only… more tame, and authoritative. Then, it beeped. "_Match found: International Harvester M54 Cargo Truck; NCR affiliation confirmed._" The thing paused. "_What is the reason for your presence here?_"

This had Eyes-Of-Silver and a few others' brows raise. This place had automated guards?

"The monorail's been sapped four days ago, and McCarran has just been attacked, why do you think?" Banner calmly reported to the robot, with a poorly-hidden trace of sass. "VIPs are in the back. Check for yourself."

Eyes-Of-Silver tensed at once. The same sound of a small wheel grinding dirt came from behind his back, then moved closer and closer to the ramp, and…

What was _that_?

He frowned when a caricatural, white-and-black square face stared back at him blankly from just over the flatbed's level. It wore a scowl, a sneer and a black hat with an engraved shield emblem. The image on the glass pane flickered slightly. It was set in a broad and rusty metal chest that had once been blue, with even broader shoulders and a few panels and attachments he couldn't recognize. The only speck of its arms he could see looked like flexile pipes.

A yellow light winked above the screen a couple of times, before it let out another beep. "_Welcome to the New Vegas Strip, sirs and madams. Enjoy your stay._"

"Thank you…?" Naeera murmured weakly, waving back as it disappeared again.

The gate to the Strip groaned and moaned as it opened. Eyes-Of-Silver blew a vexated snort; did nobody ever think about oiling these things? Dwarven ones didn't creak after millennia, and these people's metal couldn't even possibly look clean after a couple of centuries. They had invented marvels of all sorts, but couldn't oil joints?

A quick glance outside, aided by the truck's greatly-diminished speed, showed the checkpoint they'd passed had five of those robots standing (if a wheeled thing could be said to stand, he didn't really know) by much cleaner, higher and more compact walls. A couple of automated sentries watched over the slums from small guard towers made of metal tubing. Then, the two doors slid closed, mounted as they were on rails.

Sound here was different from the rest of the ruined city. This place sounded and felt _alive_, at least. People talked, laughed, shouted or sang from virtually everywhere. Music flowed through the air from a number of locations, somewhere fainter, somewhere louder, but all followed roughly the same pattern and rhythm. There went his hope of relying on his hearing. The smell didn't worsen but rather improved, much to his surprise. Most of the filth here was gone.

His sight, however, told him a different tale. What he saw when he craned his neck were tall buildings, a score stories high or even more; but the higher he went with his eyes, the more paint had flaked away. He saw dirt where patches of plaster were missing.

It diminished the visual insanity in no way. The sleek tower he had first seen when he had set foot in the ruins was just overhead, a writing proudly identifying it as the Lucky 38. Facing it was a greatly broader one, marked by a large sign with the script 'Gomorrah' surrounded by stylised flames, flanked by the black silouhettes of two enormous women. The façade of the building was seldom decorated by orange lines, barely visible against the bright paint.

Further down the road, ahead of them, he saw the battlements and towers of what could have only been a sham castle, along with a green, four-legged dragon's figure supporting a text that read 'The Dragon's Lair'. There were more and more buildings, too: clean white monoliths of stone and glass, or refined curved complexes, and even more outlandish forms and shapes he couldn't even begin to place.

There were well over a dozen of these enormous buildings, almost thirty when the smaller ones were taken into account, and each was more goofy and exaggerated than the other. Colours clashed against his sensible eyes, he heard a fountain's water streaming and braziers burning, music became stronger and the crowd became thicker. It was all one giant headache for him to enjoy later.

Still, it was a nice one nonetheless.

None of them could mask their surprise. The three humans looked the most amazed, pointing and laughing in disbelief at whatever sight they deemed the most beautiful, with Maria being the most vocal and impressed about it all. Naeera's bewilderment was more silent, expressed through an ear-to-ear grin, wide eyes and giggles. Keram-Rei chuckled and replied with a few remarks to Phoenix and Veronica's own.

Screaming-Eagle remained as grumpy as usual. She shook her head and folded her arms across her chest with a deep scowl aimed at the flatbed. She grumbled something under her breath about it all, but the general confusion gave him no way of hearing what she actually said.

Banner stopped the truck in a part of the city that was nowhere near as insane as the rest. There were few buildings, and those few were much shorter than the others he'd seen.

Those of them who could easily get up without hitting one of the supports did so; Eyes-Of-Silver waited until everyone had opened the ramp and descended before he went out and helped Maria down.

He expected screams, gunshots and general panic once Banner opened the door and joined them. Instead, the only reaction they elicited were a few passers stopping to glance at them and murmuring between themselves about some new attractions. It lasted no more than a couple of seconds for every group. Once that time passed, they walked away.

Surprising didn't even come close to describing this.

"Hey, people aren't scared." Keram-Rei noted mildly, a frown donning his face. "Why is that?"

"I guess they think you're… part of one of the casinos." Veronica tried. Even she wasn't really convinced about her explanation, but it was the only semi-plausible one they had. "There was a castle one near the entrance, with a dragon? Maybe they figure you're the new attractions?"

"Pff, no Dragon I've ever seen looked like that." Naeera huffed. It earned her a questioning glance from Banner and a positively murderous glare from Keram-Rei, to both of which she shrugged. "Stuff we've got where we come from. They fly, and they're real nasty. But they've only got two legs and wings, not _four_."

Keram-Rei gave her a minuscule nod of approval.

"Damn, I hope the NCR doesn't get that far up North…" Banner muttered. He then shook his head, stood up right as his heels connected with a thud and held his hand against his forehead in salute. "It's been an honor."

Keram-Rei replied with a much lazier salute and a smile. "See you, Banner."

The soldier beamed at them one last time before he clambered up into his vehicle and drove some fifty feet, then into a fenced area once a high wall blocked the road. Short, one-story buildings rose from the ground. The middle one was a small complex, the others nothing more than cubes with windows. A flagpole next to the entrance displayed the NCR's heraldry: a two-headed bear over a white and red background.

"Alright, eyes to me." Phoenix called. They formed a circle, and Eyes-Of-Silver took place where he could watch the long, crowded street for any possible threats. The girl shot a glance back at the NCR facility before sighing in relief. "Good guy, but I don't want anyone else interfering in this. Is that clear?"

They all nodded, more or less decidedly. To him her entire story was still a mystery for the large part. There was someone to kill who had tried to kill her before, and that was it. True, revenge didn't need particular reasons, but… she had said she was going to need armour and weapons, and she had bought none.

"Good." Phoenix grunted. "Now, I've thought about how we're going to do this. You see the white building? That's The Tops. Where Benny's hiding."

All Eyes-Of-Silver needed to do was raise his head a little to see the place, almost two hundred feet away. It was white - or tried to be, at any rate – and the two main bodies of the building rose from a broad, curved base. Even in the morning, the entrance was lit by yellow pillars of light and winking orange lights set in a waving pattern. A curved, tilted structure rose up where the main doors were, while the rest of the façade had a shining blue zigzag pattern to it. A sign that rose from the middle of the broad, coloured avenue they stood upon proudly proclaimed, in dazzling letters and symbols, that it indeed was 'The Tops - Hotel and Casino'.

Two thugs in grey suits stood at each set of doors, as men and women alike entered in a bliss or left the building with miserable faces. Strangely, there was no automated guard standing there. They were patrolling the road, sure, but they kept a certain distance from the building itself. He noticed with growing befuddlement that they merely rolled up and down the sidewalks – and away from the walls. Why?

It was then he noticed a small cluster of those Securitrons aiming straight towards them as they detached from a larger group, with the purposefulness that could only come from machines. They reminded him of Dwarven Spheres, only much bulkier and much, much more ungainly.

Phoenix noticed it. With a snarl and a curse, she dispelled the circle and took a step forward to meet the Securitrons with a straight face. She nodded graciously as they approached and smiled briefly, tightly. "Hello, officers. What's the matter?"

The lead one ordered the two on the sides to stop behind it. Its face winked out for an instant, and when it came back, it wasn't the same. Where there should have been one of those square and serious-looking men with a cap, this one wore a wide-brimmed hat and a foulard around his neck. It scowled at them with mistrusting eyes, biting a lit stick between his lips and showing his teeth in a grimace.

Phoenix was taken aback by this. She shook her head, rubbed at her eyes, and smiled. "Victor?"

Keram-Rei and Screaming-Eagle, on the other hand, looked extremely distressed. They traded looks and clenched their fists. The battlemage took a deep breath and cracked his neck, as if ready for violence. The mage just held her staff closer.

"_No time for talkin', _pardner_._" The robot spat out slowly, as if offended or irritated by their very existence. It waved an arm back behind him, towards the high tower of the Lucky 38. "_Boss wants to meet ya._" It snorted, pointing at them with its free, clawed arm. Eyes-Of-Silver frowned at the breathing sound. "All_ of ya._"


	19. House's Invitation, Part I

Keram-Rei growled at the backs of the three heedless Securitrons.

Victor… he had destroyed that damned robot, how come now it was there to haunt them? Still, in the middle of the road, watched by everyone and virtually surrounded, they'd had no choice but to follow it. Things were already bad enough if the robots wanted to attack them in an enclosed space, but at least they could limit the collateral damage. There was no need to drag in the crowd of helpless civilians and unarmed soldiers. People were here to have fun, not to die.

He traded a look with Screaming-Eagle. Her red eyes locked into his blue ones, and they both nodded in silent entente. This was an ambush, plain and simple. And what was the best way of avoiding it?

Walking into it head on.

The shadow of the Lucky 38 loomed and outstretched over the ground, as though it were ready to fall down and crush them. He shook his head and trudged over the long, gray steps of the casino, walking at the head of the group along with Eyes-Of-Silver. The big guy had understood quickly; and so had Naeera, who followed in at the back with Screaming-Eagle and held Maria's hand. Any hostility between the two females had been buried and forgotten when faced with the common enemy.

_Danger's a pretty good motivator, huh?_

He snorted his agreement as he stopped. The wall they had been led to by the robots hissed. Steam formed clouds over the ground, clouds that twirled and rolled over to their feet - but he couldn't afford to get distracted just now. He glanced over his shoulder to see the traces of Phoenix's internal struggle. It looked like the younger girl was clinging to whatever hope she had that her savior couldn't possibly lead her into a trap. Her uncertain green eyes scanned everywhere for an escape as she chewed her lower lip.

Veronica, by comparison, was a lot calmer than he would've imagined. She was staring hard and impassively at the Securitrons, but when she met his eyes, she flashed him her usual grin and winked.

Keram-Rei smirked back, before he looked back ahead of him. The dark walls had now completely receded into the black floor, revealing a set of tall and opaque glass doors. Victor pushed them open and vanished inside, accompanied by the two Securitrons flanking him.

"Every machine here is looking at us." Eyes-Of-Silver informed him in a whisper. His voice trembled with fury, and he had unadvertedly bared his fangs and narrowed his eyes. His politeness was gone. "Clever bastard. We're walking straight into a bloody ambush."

"Then let's not make him wait." Keram-Rei grunted, plunging into the darkness that awaited him.

Well, maybe darkness didn't really cut it. The hall was _pitch black_. The only light came from the outside, and it stopped a few feet in front of the doors, showing nothing but a dusty brown carpet. Their boots, shoes and talons met it with dampened thuds – probably the only pleasantness they were about to get.

When the last one of them set foot inside, the doors swung closed and cut out the light. Phoenix yelped; she was the only one to do so. The others either remained silent, growled or outright snarled as another hiss came from the outside.

The walls were closing.

_Oh, motherfucker._

"Motherfucker." Keram-Rei echoed grimly. He tore the sword free from his sheath, readying fire in his left hand with a slight effort of will. The orange light was nowhere near enough to light anything beyond three feet, but it glinted and flickered over his armor in a way he found strangely comfortable.

With a noise as definitive as a death toll, the room was sealed once again. The air felt stale and hot in his lungs. Recycled like Vault 24's, only it seemed air conditioning wasn't an option here. Who knew how long ago it had malfunctioned. House… what a cheap fuck. He had an army of robots and couldn't repair air conditioning in this furnace?

Then, with a deathly clack, a hundred lights stabbed his eyes. He shielded them with his forearm and, as the fire crackled next to his scales, he saw white and red gleams mixed and intermingled over crimson carpeting, green tables, brown slot machines, black decorations and grey structures. Stairs led to raised bars and yet more tables and stools, with gnarled, old wood covering the railings. In the middle of the hall rose a broad white pillar, whose supports joined under the sign 'Lucky 38'. The dark doors with the casino logo there had to lead to an elevator.

Standing between it and them were more automatons than he cared to count.

The front two rows were entirely comprised of Securitrons, their arms raised and their claws receded to show the ends of lasers and the holed barrels of machine guns. He could see four hulking machines behind them, yet he couldn't identify what they were. There were Securitrons in the two bars, aiming their weapons from behind the banisters. On the high ceiling, four turrets swung as if to stare right into his eyes with their glaring red sensors.

"**Don't take it personally.**" A mellifluent voice issued from unseen speakers. It was as triumphant and entertained as a cat toying with his dying mouse. "**You were just too… unpredictable. Take this as a compliment of your skills.**"

Something thudded against the carpet.

Every weapon opened fire. Thunder echoed in the hall, as if a brewing storm confined inside had freed itself. Blinding red beams and bullets…

Stopped.

A flickering barrier rose from just a foot in front of him, crackling blue with each of the hundreds of hits it withstood. Still the robots kept on shooting, ejecting hundreds of spent casings on the carpets where they stood.

Keram-Rei turned back to Screaming-Eagle and gave her an appreciative nod. She bowed her head back under the strain, her staff gripped in both hands and her feet planted wide. She then closed her eyes to better focus on their defense.

It took a few seconds for the robots to stop firing, clearly puzzled. A chorus of error messages and disconcerted sounds arose from their ranks – but there was no risk of having their weapons point anywhere else. So they stood, motionless, ready to tear them apart when they made a move.

"What the fuck…" Phoenix breathed, wide-eyed with awe. She went for her rifle and fumbled with it until she got a good grip. "You… _what_?"

Veronica blinked, her face vaguely inexpressive, nodding slowly as she attempted to stare at the incorporeal wall. "Pretty much."

Naeera answered by taking the crimson plasma rifle from her satchel and dropping it in her open hands. The young woman looked at her in surprise, while the thief stuffed the pockets of her tattered robe full of microfusion cells.

Eyes-Of-Silver didn't speak. With Maria holding back, he just impotently held his enormous axe in restrained frustration and growled his hostility. Probably instinctive on his part, he wanted to intimidate the enemy. Too bad robots couldn't feel fear. Every inch of his head, every scale was warped in rage and twisted by his scars, from the tip of his snout to the tips of his horns.

Wait, was that… _blood_ trickling from his hearing canals?

"A shield, plain and simple." Keram-Rei dismissed them with a wave of his hand. His eyes wandered back to the enemy they were facing.

There were dozens of machines outside of their shield. Escape wasn't an option, since it would have just meant delaying the inevitable – and the door was sealed, anyway. The turrets he could handle without much effort; the Securitrons were the real problem. Besides, what was behind them? Those things looked _huge_. There was no doubt they could pack a punch.

_Ignore them until you're facing them, Keram-Rei. Focus._

He shook his head and did as his parasitic friend told him.

_Hey buddy, fuck you. I'm trying to help here._

Despite everything, Keram-Rei stifled a chuckle. He looked at the enemy's disposition as if they were something he and his men were about to face, doing the first logical thing he could do – take in numbers and positions. Two rows of nine Securitrons each, six on either of the raised bars, four turrets on the sides of the elevator's pillar, and four unknown threats. The total amounted to…

He sighed. Had his hands been free, he would have snoutpalmed.

Thirty-eight, really? Was House _that_ sort of guy?

_Come on, he used one of those villainy 'I win' little speeches before he attacked, what did you expect? Shit that makes sense?_

_Fair enough._ Keram-Rei conceded. Aside from that useless particular, he stared hard at their ranks, saw if there were any weak spots, any blind ones. Hmm, if he somehow managed to…

* * *

"Alright people!" Keram-Rei announced with a broad, wicked grin a minute later. He faced about to meet the others' glances and planted his sword in the ground for added effect. It sank into the carpet and wood underneath really nicely. "I've got a plan." He glanced upwards, nowhere in particular, as if he could be seen by cameras. "Hey, House, you listening to this?"

"Just get to it already, mate." Eyes-Of-Silver growled after a couple of seconds, accompanying his words with a snort. "I want to kill something."

Keram-Rei showed his free palm in a placating gesture. "Be patient." His eyes went to Screaming-Eagle. "I need to know something. Is this barrier made to keep things in and out, or just out?"

"Just… you will never ask something intelligent, will you, Keram-Rei?" Screaming-Eagle said flatly. Had her eyes been open, he was sure she would have either glared or scowled at him. "This is a _shield_, not a ward. Nothing can breach it, so long as I stand."

"So, no spells going out." Keram-Rei concluded, drawing a brief nod. He felt a smile touch his lips. "What about summonings?"

"Interesting question…" Screaming-Eagle muttered and raised a brow in fascination, even though her eyes remained closed. "I've hardly ever been forced to use this barrier in Tamriel, and those few times I've employed it against conjurers, they always tried to break through." She hummed pensively. "Considering the Daedras and the energies at play… I would say it _might_ be possible."

Keram-Rei's grin widened at the confirmation. "Thank you, Screaming-Eagle."

As the mage grunted in reply, he tore his sword free from the carpeting, walked up to the edge of the shield and peered outside. The Securitrons had hardly moved from their extremely exposed positions – save for those lucky enough to be placed behind slot machines – and the ones on high ground were still as statues. How they managed with those little wheels of theirs, he had no idea.

_Great, if this works, I'll be sure to ask House in person how they do that. How about enacting the fucking plan already?_

_Give me a second._ Keram-Rei mentally growled back. He clawed the fingers of his left hand, channelling his Magicka into his palm and shaping it through his will. The light shone a faint violet, which grew steadily darker with each passing second. When it was just the right shade of purple, he presented his palm to the ground a yard ahead of him and beyond the shield and crushed the sickly gleam.

An oversized gray fist broke through the carpeting and held onto the ground, as another one punched through the adjacent patch of floor and held on. Smaller arms pulled themselves up, then came a chest as broad as Eyes-Of-Silver's and tiny legs around the size of Maria's. It was made entirely of dull, cracked concrete.

The battlemage narrowed his eyes on it. Not really _entirely_…

"Figures, I knew you'd make a cape out of the carpet." Keram-Rei groaned at the Earth Atronach. It turned around, tilted its head and looked at him with its shining eyes. He waved him off. "Alright, you have one job here: _charge_."

The firestorm began once again, with the constant hammering of gunfire and lasers threatening to crack his skull open even behind the barrier. The moment the first laser hit it, the carpet it wore burst into flames. The atronach banged a fist against the ground in rage, unperturbed by the beams scorching it and the bullets chipping its hide. It glared at its enemies and started forwards on all fours, crashing through railings and blackjack tables as it went. A troll had an Altmer's grace when compared to the thing, but it did its job.

The Securitrons didn't have too many problems evading its sluggish punches, save for one of the foremost ones – but even when they all focused their fire on the new threat, they achieved little other than angering it further. Still, the turrets didn't open up.

That was going to be a problem.

Keram-Rei avoided thinking about it too much, rotating his shoulders in mild nervousness instead. He turned around to stare at anyone capable of fighting. Phoenix kept a white-knuckled grip on her hunting rifle, tense and nervous – the exact opposite of Veronica, who appeared calm and relaxed as usual, with the only addition of the new plasma gun held in her right hand. Naeera fiddled with her daggers, tapping her fingers on them and whirling them in her hands, until she raised her eyes to meet Keram-Rei's. She then cleared her throat and sheathed them.

Eyes-Of-Silver had calmed down, apparently. He had loosened his grip on his axe, as though he didn't expect to enter the fight any time soon, the viciousness gone from his face. It looked like he had somehow gotten his wild side under control. Still, when he noticed Keram-Rei, he smiled in anticipation and…

Licked his teeth.

The battlemage shivered.

_Don't get distracted now, or this all goes to shit. You can't afford to get it wrong._

Keram-Rei shook his head, jerking a free thumb back at the Earth Atronach trying to fight the Securitrons. There was still no weapon firing at the barrier, all concentrating on the conjured being with vaguely deafening results. "Eyes-Of-Silver, Naeera, we're getting through with our Ethereal Form." He announced over the din. His gaze went to the slightly-confused humans. "Phoenix, Veronica, hold your weapons at ready." He pointed a finger towards the mass of red hair behind Screaming-Eagle, who stood perfectly still and focused. "Maria, you help Screaming-Eagle in any way you can, got it?"

He faced the enemy once again without waiting for their acknowledgement; there was no need to. Two weapons either clicked or hummed, the barrier's azure glow flared up, and footsteps slithered or stomped their way to either side of him. Meanwhile, his atronach was still desperately trying to take down some Securitrons. Its concrete hide was cracked, blackened and filled with holes, but it didn't care too much about it.

"The moment we're out, we get in cover behind either the walls or the slot machines – the clusters of things with levers." Keram-Rei told Naeera and Eyes-Of-Silver. A determined little grunt and a Dragon's snort were all the answers he needed. "Then, I take out the turrets and we hit hard while my atronach draws their fire. With the robots distracted and no covering fire, we'll be able to push forwards."

"Sounds like a plan." Naeera remarked. The trace of amusement in her voice – or her voice at all - was barely heard over the hell caused by automatic gunfire. "I like it."

_Get ready._

Keram-Rei drew in a deep breath. He had to leave behind all the links to the mortal world in order for his Shout to work properly. Being almost dead had helped, a few days ago. Now, he focused on the very same death he was about to face, on the relentless tides of time, on how ephemeral the world can be, on how easy it was for this plan to go wrong and for them all to die…

"_Feim Zii Gron._" They didn't Shout, but Whispered. Although inaudible, the sound of it was enough to make the shield waver and the dust fall from the ceiling.

His body lost all corporeality. He raised his hand to see fading azure fingers, and looked up at the shield. There were thousands of small, flattened bullets there, hanging in the air… he was going to ask Screaming-Eagle how she did that, sooner or later; right now, there was no time. He tentatively touched the edge of the barrier.

His hand passed right through it.

_Alright, move your ass! You know how fickle this Shout can be, get to the slots!_

Keram-Rei broke into a run. The turrets' red beams buzzed loudly and passed right through him, leaving nothing more than a funny, warm feeling in his gut. He jumped over the railings to his left and into the lowered casino floor, where the Securitrons on the raised bars turned around and opened up to his left and right.

Bullets hissed all around and through him until he got into cover behind a round cluster of slot machines. He sheathed his sword as metal shook and heated under the barrage, as wood splintered and was chewed up, and readied a fireball in each hand. His main target were the turrets. With those gone, the Securitrons were as good as dead.

Before he knew it his body shimmered into the material plane once again. So he jumped up, flung both of his spells towards the turrets through the hail of poorly-aimed fire, and ducked down. More shots peppered the slots around him and, when he glanced back, he saw Naeera taking cover silently behind one of the lofts' walls to his left. Eyes-Of-Silver did the same on the other side, although he was being much more vocal about his frustration at the 'bloody metal wankshafts', or something like that. Impressive: the big guy could make his voice heard over all of this.

Alright, he needed strength now. This was just going to be his grave if he didn't do something. When he got back up, he wanted bullets to bounce off of him, and lasers to harmlessly cool away over his scales. He was Dragonborn, not a mere mortal. He had to be _invincible_.

Like a Dragon.

_They… technically aren't, if you take away the soul._

"_MUL QAAH DIV!_" Keram-Rei Roared.

His heart soared, and the ground shook – with it, the volume of fire wavered for a moment. He felt rather than saw the wicked, sharp, shining scales growing over his armor, harder than any alloy ever conceived by man or Daedra. His tail was covered in barbed spikes, his fangs felt like steel blades in his mouth, his muscles bulged with the strength flowing through him. His ethereal armor cast a blue-orange light on the ground and the cover around him, faint like a ghost and yet as concrete as stone.

His soul finally had the body it deserved.

Keram-Rei let out a snarl of challenge and elbowed one of the slot machines away to jump outside. It rolled for half a dozen feet, as he readied two more spells and aimed them at the remaining turrets. The ones he had hit before were nothing more than half-molten husks of metal, and the other two were going to meet the same fate. Their laser bolts did little besides staggering him by inches, bullets dinged against his chest and limbs as harmlessly as raindrops. Did House really believe these things could hurt him?

He cast his fire spells with entertained contempt. The bright blue bolts of fire seared through the turrets' base. The two weapon systems bent under their weight and fell miserably, with only a clang signalling their ends as they crashed into the ground.

The Securitrons standing before the elevator turned to meet the new threat, weapons raised and trained on him. Every shot meant for him either vanished or ricocheted onto the carpeting and wood underneath. He grinned openly when his atronach crushed another robot under its rock fists, and the others were torn between the immediate threat and the true menace. The volume of their weapons was fearsome… for a mortal. The roar couldn't echo his own, if he wanted.

He vaulted over his cover and into the open ground, unsheathing his sword and mockingly spreading his arms. He basked in the rain of fire as though he were standing under a waterfall, the sound aiding this sensation. "IS THIS YOUR BEST, HOUSE?!"

"**HOSTILE DETECTED. COMMENCING NEUTRALIZATION.**"

The Earth Atronach exploded.

The deafening roar snapped him out of his demigod complex. Incandescent shards and fragments of his bound Daedra rained everywhere, burning through the carpet and tables and clattering over the slots and railings. When the black smoke cleared, the four hulking shapes made themselves manifest.

Keram-Rei's mouth hung open in horrified surprise.

Four desert tan sentry bots rolled forwards on the metal wheels mounted on their three legs, making the Securitrons part to make way - almost respectfully. They were easily taller than Eyes-Of-Silver, their tiny, red-eyed heads barely showing over their broad shoulders and chest. Their right arms consisted of a massive gatling laser, their left a blocky – and armed - missile launcher.

_We are fucked._

Keram-Rei stared at the orange-tipped missiles, unable to move, unable even to notice the lasers hitting him and the bullets bouncing off of him. Dragon Aspect or no, Dragonborn or no, one of those warheads was going to leave nothing more than tiny pieces and ashes of him. Cover wasn't going to help him. Nobody was going to help him, the other robots were busy pinning his friends down for them to actually do anything.

_Hey, care to fucking _move_?! You die, I die, dipshit! Get a move on!_

Treads-In-Gloom's frantic rants made him blink. A woman's frustrated howl, loud enough to silence the enemy's guns for a moment, tore his mind from the grim thoughts and back into action.

"GET DOWN!"

As the four machines brought their weapons to bear, he dropped face-down into the old carpet without so much as a question.

Heat washed over him.

It wasn't the negligible feeling he felt when these lasers hit him, or when projectiles vanished against his hide. No, this was _actual_ heat, a fiery sensation strong enough to ignore his Shout and pierce through his Stalhrim armor. The air became dry, his lungs forced to take in the scorched wind. He was vaguely aware of something sizzling and boiling in the background; right now, he was busy forcing down his panic and not choking. He closed his eyes to keep them from desiccating, he clenched his jaw for fear his tongue would cook in his own mouth. How long-

Everything cooled down abruptly.

What must have been several tons of metal fell to the ground. His innards shook with the force and the sound, the floor cracked under the weight. The gunfire had stopped. No missiles annihilated him, so he dared look up in curiosity.

The top halves of the sentry bots were _gone_, along with a good dozen of the Securitrons' around them. Well, not… exactly gone. They lay upside down, the weapons bent and the eyes unlit, while the legs or wheels remained upright to support a weight that wasn't there anymore. One by one, the lower halves of the Securitrons toppled. The metal on their edges was red hot, melting and bubbling as it trickled and cooled. Beyond the elevator, the walls were marred by a black line.

Keram-Rei pulled himself up. Even from their vantage points, even from the survivors' safe positions near the stairs, nothing moved - the robots had stopped firing, possibly dazed as he was at what had just happened. Treads-In-Gloom said nothing. Silence fell in the vast room and, just for a moment, he had time to see how many enemies they were facing now. The sentry bots and turrets had been dealt with, and a little over half of the Securitrons were gone.

He bellowed out a challenging laugh and spread his arms, each and every one of his teeth bared in a mocking beam. "FUCK YOU AND FUCK YOUR SENTRIES, HOUSE!"

Something thudded softly against the ground next to the entrance.

He turned around in puzzlement, only to see Screaming-Eagle lay on the ground, motionless. Maria was holding on to her as hard as she could, squashed bullets forming a semicircle on the floor all around them. The barrier was nowhere to be seen.

Keram-Rei lost all cognition of space and time. What had she _done_ with that spell? Had she pushed her power too far? Was she going to be fine? Gods, had she just fallen unconscious, or…

Phoenix was the first to move and grab her by an arm, followed shortly after by Veronica. Together they did their best to drag her behind Eyes-Of-Silver's cover, to his right, while Maria trailed behind them with the mage's staff in both hands.

_Huh. Looks like our plan really _has_ gone to shit, doesn't it?_

Keram-Rei limited his answer to a brief, stunned nod. He then bolted for the nearest walls he could find – where Naeera hid – heedless of the shots assaulting his ears, of the fire pelting his Soul armor and his surroundings, of the splinters flying from the walls and the carpets and _everything_. He vaulted over the small stairs, turned a trip over the last step into a roll and covered the final feet in a heartbeat, flattening himself against the wall and swinging his tail to one side lest he broke it at the base.

He sighed in relief when Eyes-Of-Silver took Screaming-Eagle and Maria for the little distance that remained; without a trace of effort, he lifted them and brought them in cover. He had feared the worst for a second, but then he saw the mage move weakly as if in protest at someone holding her. As soon as they had vanished, constant gunfire chewed away at the walls' corners – almost as if the robots wanted to destroy their cover to kill them.

A small fist playfully punched his elbow. He turned around to see Naeera smile broadly at him, with a twinkle in her eye. "Sounds like we're the ones getting fucked now, huh?"

Above him, he heard the Securitrons' wheels as they moved around their vantage point while they laid their suppressive fire. Back to the elevator and the stairs, the few remaining ones were probably regrouping or enacting some new strategy. _So why shouldn't we?_

_Good question – how about you get to it?_

_Going to._ Keram-Rei's face hardened, and he shook the thief's shoulder. "Naeera, new plan. You stick with me."

Naeera's grin disappereared at once, replaced by narrow eyes and the faintest smile of fierce determination. Her only answer was an affirmative grunt.

Keram-Rei let her go, hiding his amusement. Who knew what someone so small as Naeera could do in a straight fight? Definitely not much, except for Shouting.

_Need any help?_

_Let me handle the work._ He snorted. He ignored any other distracting thougts, and faced about to gaze at the small cluster of activity just opposite of him. Eyes-Of-Silver delicately deposited Screaming-Eagle and her staff on the ground, before he said something to Maria to make her sit down next to her. The kid didn't protest, almost as if none of them were going to go be brutally killed or maimed.

Veronica held her plasma rifle up, in case any of the Securitrons tried shooting down. Seeing how neither Keram-Rei nor Naeera had any ranged weaponry (save for magic, but he couldn't expect the girl to think rationally in a fight), Phoenix covered their side with her hunting rifle. It barked once over the ungodly din, she cocked it ready, and fired it once more – the sound was then followed by a crash of metal above him.

Keram-Rei waved to get her attention; even by screaming at the top of his lungs, they weren't going to hear him. Her raven black hair flicked around as her head snapped back to him. She flashed him a grin and gave him a thumbs-up. He pointed up at the robots above their cover, faked holding something in his free hand, bit at it and flung the imaginary ball up.

Phoenix nodded once and propped the rifle against the ground. She tore two hand grenades from her belt, shouted something at the small group behind her, and pulled the first one's pin. Three seconds passed before she lobbed it over the railing and amidst the cluster of Securitrons. Keram-Rei took a step back to shield Naeera.

Apparently, the thief didn't mind having someone pressed against her. At all.

The blast wasn't as loud or long as he thought it would be. It was like a brief thunderclap, a furious, explosive roar. Definitely enough to cut through the uproar of battle like a sword – but not _that_ deafening. More annoying was the rain of shrapnel that followed. The thousand of fragments splintered wood, furniture and carpeting, angrily tinning against whatever metal they hit and bounced against. Oh, the single sound wasn't much, but hearing hundreds of times at once made it rival the Securitrons' machine guns.

When he looked up, he saw only three of the robots were still on their wheels. They wobbled a bit against the wrecks and raised their weapons against him, for a lack of other targets. The rest of the machines kept on shooting against the corner of the larger group's cover. Didn't these things have ammo to worry about or anything?

Phoenix threw another one. Five seconds, an explosion and a thousand shards later, there were no robots left standing. He doubted something weak like a fragmentation grenade could destroy them, but cripple them? Oh, just perfect for that.

Keram-Rei flashed the girl a smile and gave her an enthusiastic nod. He pointed at the eight feet of Dragonbone and muscle behind her; so the girl shook a forearm as thick as her thigh, and the werewolf looked up. He still couldn't help but shudder. The big guy, no matter all his politeness, loyalty and overall friendliness, scared him. He was stupidly strong and a Dragonborn, though. That was just what they needed right now.

Eyes-Of-Silver first raised a brow, perplexed. Then, he probably noticed something in the battlemage's face and picked up his axe, fangs bared in what could have been a smile. If any of the Dragons he had fought over a year had ever tried to smile before tearing their prey apart, they may have looked like Eyes-Of-Silver.

Keram-Rei looked at the weapon and shook his head, much to the werewolf's disappointment. Instead, he mimicked a scream and emulated very sluggish movements… Gods only knew how could he pull off something like that with them under fire. Stupid movements like waving his hands helped by silly expressions they were, too - but Eyes-Of-Silver seemed to get it, if his bloodthirsty grin was any indication. Then, the battlemage raised his left hand, clenching his fist in the air as he punched nothing. The werewolf did the same. Only, his left arm was entirely made of ebony, and must have weighed about a million pounds.

And without the punching, too. He got that arm out of cover, he could kiss it goodbye.

Eyes-Of-Silver strapped his battleaxe to his back. He rose to his full height, took a step forward to get clear of the group there (but not enough as to actually expose himself), and… probably chuckled to himself, judging by the way his shoulders and chest shook. This time, the battlemage clearly heard him crackle his neck and knuckles. That sound was a shotgun's discharge of its own.

"_TIID KLO UL!_"

Although he had already withstood it once the other day, hearing someone with that voice Bellow three words of power made his hearing go a little bit dull. That came from someone that had passed the last subjective Era just underneath high-caliber machine guns and automatic lasers.

Eyes-Of-Silver became a white and crimson blur. A row of slot machines dropped to the floor as though an hellish gale had shoved them down. Then, the leftmost of the four Securitrons near the elevator slammed against the metal doors. Where there had once been its screen, now was a gaping hole; its insides and circuits were now bared to the reddish light, belching fumes and spitting sparks.

Faster than his eye could see, Keram-Rei heard rather than witnessed another of the machines crash into the carpeting with a thunderous crack. Another followed it before the sound was over, this time more similar to the first, only it broke through the railings and destroyed a blackjack table. The last one barely had the time to register something was happeing before it toppled, its former screen nothing more than a window to its inner workings.

Then, a blink of an eye later, Eyes-Of-Silver was back behind Phoenix. He looked very, _very_ smug and satisfied with himself.

Keram-Rei laughed at that point. Not only had he devastated what little resistance was going to hold him and Naeera (mostly Naeera) back; he had also managed to awe the three people still conscious around him for one simple reason: they had hardly had any time to _acknowledge_ he had done something before he was back there. _Hey, how long did it take him?_

_Wait a second. According to the toy on your forearm… three seconds flat._

Hmm, not bad. With a stronger Thu'um, he might have managed it in two or less.

Keram-Rei looked over his shoulder to Naeera, meeting her golden eyes. They shone nicely in the light of his Dragon Aspect. "Alright, follow me." Keram-Rei said, loud enough to be heard over the robots firing. "There's about five of those left. We're going to stay low, climb the stairs, and take them out. Stay close."

Naeera pushed him out of cover. When he regained his footing and indignantly dusted at his armor, both ethereal and corporeal, she urged him to move with a scowl. "You go, I'm following at a safe distance!"

Keram-Rei shook his head in a rare moment of disdain. Great, fine, it wasn't like he really needed her help anyway. He dashed out of the corner of the wall and ran for the stairs to the elevator's left. No need to be stealthy or lay low: it wasn't like the Securitrons could see him, much less hear him. Now it felt strange, though, running without anyone actually trying to rip him to tiny ribbons. He'd thought he was going to endure it for the whole fight.

He flew over the steps two at a time. When he finally got upstairs, he was greeted by a fairly nice space with sofas, coffee tables, and a long bar furnished with stools and at least a hundred bottles – some of which had fallen down under the violence of the fight and their Voice. He had to say, the constant muzzle flashes' orange and red reflections on the glass were mesmerizing.

On the other side, behind the railings encasing the entirety of the private space up there, were the remaining five robots that were currently keeping Eyes-Of-Silver and the girls down - plus the one that had flattened an easy chair when Phoenix killed it.

_Uh, buddy, I really think you should make this quick…_

Keram-Rei showed his teeth in triumph as he readied lightning in both of his hands. He didn't like that particular element as much as he did with fire, but it had excellent results against these robots. His feathers raised and stood on edge, his arms tickled with power, and the majestic crackle rumbled with the force of true thunder, as opposed to the cheap mockery of the Securitrons' machine guns.

He finally decided to announce his presence.

The first two of the Securitrons spasmed under the force of his magic, their circuits burning up and adding to the thick smell of smoke, gunpowder and ozone. Lightning arced through their chassis, their siren bursting, their equipment smoking. Their screens exploded at the same time, showering the stuffed furniture and carpets with incandescent glass shards as they fell down.

He reserved the same treatment to the following two. One of them swung drunkenly, collapsing into the bar and making a great deal more bottles roll down; the other tumbled down and into the casino floor below. It probably fell into a cluster of slots, because the clatter was much louder than the two grenades exploding earlier.

When he saw the last one had stopped firing and had turned to meet him, Keram-Rei smiled wickedly. "Look what we have here..."

_Stop fucking around and kill it!_

"_This mighta gone all smooth, ya snake._" Victor spat out, both weapons trained on him and ready to open up. "_If ya'd given me the lady, House woulda helped ya – took ya in, even!_"

Keram-Rei chuckled. He raised his arm, presenting his palm, and narrowed his eyes on the robot. He charged a bolt in his hand, the blue light growing stronger and stronger with each passing second. "Fuck you, tin can."

His spell failed.

His Dragon armor vanished.

Immortality was gone.

Mortality had returned.

Keram-Rei fell to his hands and knees, gasping to take in as much air as he could. Every single muscle and bone in him hurt as though they had been broken or torn. Gods, his forehead felt like he had been butting heads with Eyes-Of-Silver the whole day. His lungs burned as if he hadn't been breathing for a whole life, his joints felt weak like an ancient undead's, his heart was about to burst. How much time had passed since he'd summoned his Dragon Aspect? It couldn't have been that much, the fight had to be pretty short, the length had to be all subjective. Gah, he hated the drawback of that Shout…

_No, no, no, _fuck_ no! I told you to move it, you shithead! Nonononono…_

A wheel squeaked on its rusty joint.

_Oh no, oh by the… by the Daedras, no… I-I don't want to go there, I don't want to, Dagon help me - NO! We're dying, I'm going back to Quagmire… AND IT'S ALL YOUR FAULT! I HOPE IT HURTS SO FUCKING MUCH YOU TURN INSIDE OUT FROM THE PAIN!_

A warm piece of metal touched his left temple. It made a strange sound, like… like a whirr, or a hum. Was it loading up? When he tried raising his head, the only thing he got was a close-up of the grime on Victor's wheel. Dust, sand, caked mud, maybe even blood.

Funny, how his brain focused on such details before he died.

_I-i-it's not f-funny!_

"_Any last words?_" Victor goaded in its… its fucking accent. Fucking robot, fucking House, fucking fucked up world he had ended up on…

"Yeah, what's this plate cover?"

Abruptly, Victor punched him. Keram-Rei's vision went black and red for an eternity. He knew he'd fallen on his side, but he didn't really understand where the floor or ceiling were, or how he was going to keep from throwing up. One thing was clear, though. He was so happy to have heard Naeera's voice he was probably going to cry.

He was vaguely aware of the wood breaking somewhere closeby, of the shots going off and of Victor screaming angrily at the 'li'l bitch' on his back. Meanwhile, Naeera giggled and laughed like crazy the whole time. It was a strangely gratifying sound… maybe it was because she'd saved his life, maybe she just had a pretty laugh. Metal clanked to the floor most of the time, usually small pieces, but once even a… thing that was big enough to crack the floorboards

After that came a crash. He felt the vibration up his spine, right into his aching brain and his tired organs. His eyes felt like popping at it. He groaned. He was too tired to feel pain properly…

A plasma rifle went off a few times not too far, counting was a little much at the moment. He blinked his eyes into a semblance of focus, only to meet Naeera's talons in front of him.

The thief squatted down, took his head in her hands, and looked at him with those golden eyes of hers. Were they shining or something? "D'aw, you and Eagle are so _cute_! Now you're both unconscious!" She giggled. "I once hear when lovers sleep at the same time, they meet in their dreams."

Keram-Rei wanted to tell her to fuck off. It came out as a wheezing cough and a grunt.

Then, two enormous hands scooped him up. It had to be Eyes-Of-Silver, he'd recognize the jagged plates digging into the very essence of his being and the small of his back any time. "Time to rest, mate. You've earned it."

He wanted to argue with him, punch his Dragonbone-clad chest and probably break his hand in the process – but the only thing he could actually do was moan weakly and scratch at the werewolf's forearm. Then, he set Keram-Rei onto the most comfortable surface ever devised by any God or man.

Maybe resting wasn't really a bad idea.

_Oh, by Sithis' exsiccated ballsack and the Night Mother's decayed vulva, I concur. Sleep._


	20. House's Invitation, Part II

Eyes-Of-Silver kept on wearing his mask of satisfaction at the fight they had just won. Well, he had to admit, punching straight through those automatons with his ebony arm had been insanely fun, and taking part in Keram-Rei's charge had galvanised him to no end.

Still, he could have had his nostrils stuffed with cotton, for all he knew. For the second time in two days he couldn't smell a bloody thing thanks to gunpowder. Best of all, he was _deaf_ again. This time, it had taken just a second of exposure to these machines' gunfire for him to lose any and all perception of sound. Great, there went two of his most important senses.

His right eye twitched.

At least, the destruction in the middle of the hall was somewhat pleasant. Demolished robots sheared in half by the heat of Screaming-Eagle's ambitious spell, more wrecks on the upraised living spaces, splintered tables, bent railings, bullet holes and burn marks like no tomorrow. He liked it. The whole place had looked cheap and horrendous anyway, with all its reds and blacks and its ludicrous carpets.

Another thing he liked was Maria being fine and watching over the unconscious Screaming-Eagle and Keram-Rei with Phoenix, just behind a small pile of ruined machines he'd stacked together. At least he didn't have to worry too much about her safety, for the time being. The doors to the outside were still closed, the walls sealed, the air searingly dry as the desert.

He saw Naeera was going to say something, and thus turned to meet her golden eyes. She pouted with her grey lips, before she scowled at him and grimaced. He watched the way her mouth moved, how she formed the words, and waited for her to finish the full sentence. _You're deaf again._

Gods above, not being able to hear the tone and inflection of anyone's voice or smell their emotions made him fuming – but he didn't need that to understand sentences and simple pauses. He limited his reply to a sigh. Any elaborate, polite reply was going to have to wait until they were done with fighting. "Yes."

The thief threw her head back to stare at the ceiling in exasperation. She rolled her eyes, poked at one of the wrecks littering the ground with her claws and shook her head, her fingers raking at her long feathers. _Shit. You really need to do something about that you know._

"Yes." Eyes-Of-Silver repeated dully. It was moderately better than 'you don't fucking say'.

A moment later, he reflected on how much self-restraint he had to possess. Amazing, how he hadn't answered like that: out of everyone there, he was the absolute best in close-quarters combat. If they were going to clean up the rest of the place, he was certainly going to be chosen to go there with either Veronica or Phoenix, the only armed people still on their feet or capable of damaging these machines. Possibly Veronica, given her apparently stronger weapon and the younger girl's watch over their two mages.

This meant he couldn't drink a potion to heal the damage to his eardrums and nose, because he was going to plunge head on into yet another battle with those pissing automatons and lose his hearing and smell all over again. Wondrous.

Seeing how Naeera's head snapped around to look at something to his right, he emulated the motion. Veronica was walking up to them, her rifle held loosely in her hand, her confident grin and posture unfazed. When she had the attention of both of them, she opened her mouth. _I've spoken with Phoenix. We're going to ride the elevator together big guy._ She pointed at the thief._ Naeera. She wants you to stay with her and Maria. You know your own race better than they do._

Eyes-Of-Silver clenched his jaw. Sometimes he just hated being right.

Naeera shrugged and flicked her tail nonchalantly – turning her head just right for him to understand. _Good luck then. Just so you know. He's deaf._

Eyes-Of-Silver all but snorted at how Veronica's worry plastered itself across her face in that expression, those raised eyebrows, that grimace. He was going to be _fine_. "I'm still good enough to kill, lass."

Veronica looked as unconvinced as she could get. She gave him a slow, unsure nod, raised an eyebrow under her cowl and pursed her lips. _Uh. Sure thing._

Gah, like he needed her to be convinced he was fine. He faced about, covering in one stride the few feet that separated him from the doors that led to… maybe an elevator of sorts, there weren't many things it could be. Besides, it looked familiar… similar to the one he, an invisible Naeera and those two human residents had taken back in Vault 24.

There had been a terminal to the left, before a Securitron he'd destroyed had crushed it and torn it off the wall. To the right was a large panel with numbered buttons on it. He stroked at his spiked jaw in perplexity. Was there a particular sequence to follow in order for it to work? Or was there only one he actually needed? Most important: why wasn't there just a _lever_ to summon the thing?

Veronica appeared from the right of his vision, gave him a flat stare, and pressed the lowest button; it was the one with a downwards-pointing icon.

Oh. That had been… easy.

She shook her head at his curious frown. Then her lips took the shape of a pout, her cheeks puffed and deflated a little at a certain cadence. She was whistling, apparently.

All.

In perfect.

_Silence._

Eyes-Of-Silver wanted to tear each of his horns and spikes off, one by one, and eat them in frustration. By Hircine, why did the people of this world have to employ such loud and overpowering weapons on the field of battle? Interesting, powerful, advanced and fascinating as they may be, their sounds were just so ear-splitting…

The young woman must have heard a noise, because she straightened up at his side, as if ready for something to happen.

The brownish metal doors slid open, revealing a fairly large and well-lit cubicle – part of his mind instantly screamed 'cage'. Still, it was pleasant to look at, and high enough for his horns not to scrape on the roof. Everything was light grey, and it almost seemed it didn't belong into this tawdry tower at all. A mirror hung just past the entrance and into the opposite wall, too. There was Veronica, barely reaching his sternum as they entered, and he…

Divines, he looked like he'd fought three wars in as many hours.

The cracks and chips in his armour were much more evident when he saw them with his own eyes. Most of his plates were just scraped, while other parts literally had _chunks_ missing and his scales showing underneath. One such hole was on his right forearm, and another just below his ribs. The pure ivory hue of Dragonbone was gone, buried underneath a couple of layers of dried blood. Blood also caked his gorget, his neck, and his lips and fangs. He spotted a fair number of new scars and scratches, twisting or warping his scales even more as he grimaced at his state. Besides, were his eyes playing tricks on him, or there had been a horn or two more on his forehead the last time he'd checked?

The doors closed behind him. Again, no sound came – he only saw two slabs of steel slide closed in the mirror. Quite simply, now there was nothing to do. So he just settled for turning around and looking in the young woman's direction, in case she wanted to say anything.

As it turned out, she did. She looked up at him, trying to scrutinize his visage and pierce through his non-human expression. When she understood there was no luck to be had, her shoulders slumped ever-so-slightly. _So. You can read lips._

"Yes, I can." Eyes-Of-Silver answered with a sigh. If she was going to ask such obvious questions, he hoped the ride to be mercifully quick. Both for his sake, and hers – he didn't relish at the prospect of being locked away alongside a female. Not with his blood up like this.

Veronica was holding her crimson plasma rifle one-handed across her shoulders, impossibly relaxed in spite of whatever they may find up there. Her brows went up with curiosity, and her lips quirked at the corners to form her usual smile once again. _That's really convenient. I mean for a guy with ears as sensitive as yours. Guns must be your bane. Guess your nose isn't in good shape either. You look pretty calm though. You're growing used to it._

This time, it was Eyes-Of-Silver's turn to express surprise. So unassuming in her tattered robes, almost a beggar's attire, yet observant. "And you're smarter than you look, lassie."

Veronica's chest and shoulders shook with laughter as she opened her mouth and _no fucking sound_ came out. The sooner he found a solution, the better. _I'll take that as a compliment._

Eyes-Of-Silver chuckled. Before he could indulge any further in the discussion, however, the elevator doors slid and opened into a large, circular hall – possibly split in sections, if he were to judge that upon the walls to either side of them. It was divided in two levels, with him and the lass standing on the top one, limited by wooden railings that went from wall to wall or indicated two sets of stairs. He spotted tall doorways next to the far wall.

What astonished him the most was the opposite end of the hall. The curved walls consisted of high windows reaching up to the ceiling, which let him gaze into the world beyond – a world of sand, hills, mountains, ruins and overall misery in all directions for endless miles. At least the glass was clean.

By comparison, the deserted nature of this room was much more suited to his tastes. All the surfaces were covered in tiles as grey as stone (although the walls seemed very thin, if one looked at the doorframes on the floor below), with the white lights from a segment of some sort of ring overhead. Everything was so bright, with this illumination. He liked it.

The only colours came from a few painted landscapes hanging on the walls, a finely-sewn, red and gold carpet – reading 'Lucky 38 – in front of the elevator and a series of faint red or blue padded chairs and couches, verdant plants and sober brown tables. This was infinitely more elegant than the tawdry, garish hall in which he had fought.

The only thing that felt out of place amidst such luxury was a colossal steel terminal. An enormous screen, at least eight feet tall and ten wide, sat above its base. Smaller screens clung everywhere around and beneath it, amounting up to at least six or seven. All of them were unlit – save for the largest one, which only had a black background and two green words displayed on it.

**NO SIGNAL…**

Oh, that wasn't ominous or anything.

Eyes-Of-Silver glanced towards Veronica to his right. Her mouth hung slightly open as her eyes darted everywhere, as though she were trying to take in as many details as possible about this chamber.

"We'd better get downstairs." He urged the young woman, causing her to blink her amazement away and take her rifle in hand.

While she headed for the steps, Eyes-Of-Silver freed his battleaxe from its resting position on his back. He felt the familiar weight in his grip, his smile slowly creeping on his face. He had to be ready for anything, and hope for an enemy he could possibly vanquish. So he leapt over the railing and landed on his feet, causing the tiles to crack under his talons when he landed. The impact jolted up from his claws and to his legs, the tiles depressed a few inches.

Soundlessly, of course.

He turned around just in time to meet Veronica's unimpressed gaze at level height. She stopped for a moment to scowl at him without having to crane her neck, then descended the last few steps and glanced up anyway. _You just had to do that._

At that, Eyes-Of-Silver flashed his fangs in a broad, wolflike grin.

Veronica heaved a literally silent sigh and rolled her eyes, in contrast with the hint of a smile donning her face. She swept her eyes around once again. After a moment or two of observation, she pointed at the large terminal with her rifle and started towards it. Her steps were slow, careful, always accompanied by a swing of her plasma weapon towards the doorways. As he followed her, he suspected that his hearing wouldn't have been of much help anyway; everything _felt_ silent, empty.

The more he dwelled on that thought, the less at ease he felt and the more he cursed himself for his recklessness. This… wasn't right. Calm and silence gave him enough lucidity to think about it. These were the signs of an ambush, two years with the Imperial Legion had taught him to recognize them well enough. Still, there had to be an indicator of sorts – machines appearing, House spouting out outraged poison, anything. Unless…

Oh, of course.

Unless House was waiting for them to get to a specific spot – like the terminal.

"Bloody Oblivion…" Eyes-Of-Silver growled out to himself, loud enough to have Veronica turn around and face him. Such cowardice, sending his minions to fight his fights and setting up ambushes… he snorted to vent his anger. He was going to rip the worm's spine out. "It's a trap!"

The very moment those words left his mouth, the ground trembled under his taloned feet. This phenomenon must have made some sound as well, seeing how Veronica bolted for cover like a hare – sadly, there was none to be found. So she paced back and forth until she stood there, in the open, gripping her weapon tight and putting on her game face a mere foot to his right.

Eyes-Of-Silver decided to strap the battleaxe to his back once more, leaving some space to his ebony arm. Blades were going to be of little use against metal opponents – heavily armoured, he suspected, if they were capable of making the ground shake. With his fist, he could at least try to destroy them.

Then their foes appeared.

All right, maybe 'destroy' was a bit of an exaggeration on his part. 'Disable' was actually much closer to his current capabilities.

For one, those machines were a head taller than him, and twice as broad. They rolled in from either side of the room on tens of small, oval-shaped wheels built in the place where their feet should have been. Their four legs were as thick as tree trunks, covered in convex armour like their fat-looking torsos - so as to deflect blows and projectiles alike, smart design. Their tiny heads, wedged into their chests and under the shoulder line, shone from within with a single, scarlet horizontal light, safe behind what reminded him of a helmet's visor. Each of their arms had been replaced and fitted with the same weapon: a three-barreled monstrosity as long as Veronica's own leg, the components near the ends chevroned with black and yellow… they were called 'miniguns', if his memory didn't fail him.

He noticed there was only one small detail differentiating the light brown automatons. The one on the left had the code 'M4R11YN' engraved on its chest; the other, 'J4N3'. He suspected it to be some form of military designation, or... nicknames formed by letters and numbers? Like… 'Marilyn', and 'Jane'? What sort of mentally challenged idiot would use numbers instead of letters?

He focused on the issue at hand; alphabetical ones could come later. So these automatons blocked their retreat, were too far to hit together with a single Shout, and had every advantage save that of high ground – which they didn't really need. Only one question remained unanswered.

Why weren't they shooting?

He refrained from charging to his own death, and looked over to Veronica. She appeared to be mildly disgusted, an answer all of its own. House had to be speaking. Now he had found an advantage to deafness, at least. Who knew what sort of grand speech he had prepared for their failure.

All right, he had a few seconds at best, he'd better make them count. There was no coming out of this, not through the elevator, not through the doors. Any exit was too far for him to run to.

His wolf spirit stirred with rage as he took in the thin doorframe again. Very, _very_ weak walls, almost only tiles and a thin structure to place them on…

He wrapped his right arm around Veronica to hold her closer. If she wanted to see it as a way to comfort her and leaned against him or if she didn't like it in the slightest and tried to wriggle away, he didn't really know – and he absolutely didn't care. He slowly faced towards the wall to his right. There was no way it could keep him down there to die. Oh no, it wasn't going to, not if he had a say in all this.

Or rather, a Shout.

Eyes-Of-Silver shielded the young woman with the left part of his body, bared his fangs at the grey tiles and pounced forwards. "_WULD!_"

He broke through the wall like a battering ram, nine hundred pounds of heavily-armoured Argonian and young woman crashing through it with the speed and strength of an arctic gale. His left arm absorbed most of the impact, his hardened scales resisted the shower of fragments one of his horns snapped. Before the shattered plaster and dust settled properly, he was already sprinting ahead of the two machines' fire.

He darted upstairs; even though some of the steps gave way under his furious stomps, he couldn't care less. If enough of the bullets chewing up the room got him, they were dead. So he just kept on running and holding onto Veronica until he reached the upper floor's relative safety. He let her go as soon as most of the projectiles were stopped by the solid metal under their feet.

Veronica gawped at him, apparently undecided between complete and utter awe and impossibly indignant outrage. He literally barked at her to stop before she could in any way waste what little time they had, pointed at her plasma weapon, and jerked his head back at the other room. "Use that bloody piece of shit and line them up! I've gotta kill them!"

The young woman was taken aback by his outburst. A moment later she was crouching in position behind a man-sized palm tree's vase, her gun aimed so that she could cover both the door and the hole in the wall.

Eyes-Of-Silver prowled up into the other room. He didn't care about the decorations, or the bed, or _whatever_; the only thing that mattered in his mind was the fact he had to destroy those automatons. He whirled around, his hands free – he needed no weapon for this – and saw Veronica open fire. A bolt of sickly green energy shot from her rifle into the floor below, possibly into his target… his _prey_.

The hunt was on.

He jumped down once again, landed in a roll and got to his feet at once. He peeked from the doorway, only to see one of the machines had crawled out, guns blazing. Damnable… no, not damnable - _fucking_ bastards! He needed them to be lined up, he had one shot – by Talos, he couldn't Shout like no tomorrow, he wasn't Keram-Rei!

The other appeared soon before he could start screaming at them to fight him. They were just in front of him; it wasn't going to be long before they separated to use those weapons of theirs at maximum efficiency.

Always moving, always rolling around on those wheels of theirs… he needed them still. He wanted them dead, or whatever parody of death a machine could suffer – he wanted all of their movements to cease. They had to be stopped, forced into submission.

"I'M GONNA CRUSH YOU FLAT!" Eyes-Of-Silver bellowed as he burst out from the doorway, punching his metal palm to punctuate his words. "I'LL TEAR YOU DOWN AND FIST-FUCK YOU WITH MY METAL ARM, YOU BLOODY STEEL CUNTS!"

Both of the machines' torsos turned around, ready to fire upon him.

At that point, his grin lost all the rationality and sanity he might have tried to hold on. He planted his feet and, before either of them could do anything, he made his move.

"_IIZ SLEN NUS!_"

The air itself became still when he Shouted. A thick coating of ice grew over his prey, preventing any of their joints from moving. He laughed victoriously as he stalked forwards. His hatred for these machines, for House, burned even brighter now that he had them trapped. Their rotary weapons couldn't move, their wheels were stuck, their heads frozen in place. They were his to kill. Now… now…

Eyes-Of-Silver howled his frustration to the heavens. Nostrils flaring, he caught a glimpse of Veronica and glared at her. No matter her expression or what she may think of him now, she _was_ going to answer him. So he punched one of the automatons to communicate his intentions. "I wanna kill these slags!"

The young woman gripped her weapon tighter in mistrust - let her try. Then, she managed to get her mouth to work again and aimed her rifle at them. _The back._

He sketched a thankful nod, but he was too busy getting to destroying these things for it to come out as a proper thanks. He half-walked, half-ran behind the first one. There were cables there, and domed forms, and a whole lot of stuff he was going to be interested in half an hour from now. At the moment, though, what caught his attention were the two spherical shapes marked with the word 'caution'.

He tore the cover away with his ebony fingers, as easily as if it were made of wood. Two black and yellow cylinders were plugged in. They looked fairly dangerous, if the red symbol on their backs was anything to go by, and they may have been this robot's hearts. Who knew what could be if something were to happen to them…

He ripped them out and flicked them away. The window cracked when they hit it, but withstood the blow.

The other machine met the same fate, although a bit faster than the first. Shorn metal, torn cylinders, red lights winked out. Satisfaction made his heart swell.

Eyes-Of-Silver stepped away, threw his head back and howled in triumph. By Hircine, deaf, without a sense of smell, he had still outmaneuvered and bested two killing machines.

Now… he took in a deep breath and closed his eyes. There were going to be no more ambushes – this was the top of the building, judging by the view. If he wanted to speak without any form of impairment, or if he wanted anyone to speak to him, he had to calm down. Thrilling fight, infuriating, gratifying and, most important, over. There was still Veronica there, ready to shoot him if he did something in berserk rage again.

All right, focus on a small task. First things first: his hearing and smell situations. He patted the pouches underneath his breastplate – ores, ingots and materials for smelting the first, leather, wood and other items in the second. He remembered that well enough. Now, on to his hips. Curios in one on his left, books in another, and the last one on his right was the one with potions.

He popped it open with slow and deliberate ease, in harmony with his rhythmic breaths. His gauntlet stroked the tops of a series of bottles. Several alchemical and arcane potions for strength, night vision, or sensory augmentation; no need for them. So he pushed in a little deeper, and found another row of long glass necks. Stamina draughts, hmm… no, he was still fresh and strong, he was used to longer fights. The flasks on the bottom, though, he recognized immediately – healing elixirs, perfect. He took one of the smaller. He was suffering from no grave wounds at the moment, just a couple of disabilities connected to his senses; the rest were mostly scratches. Maybe a bullet lodged into his right calf.

He pulled out the absurdly tiny flask with his index and thumb, careful not to shatter it. It would be a waste of a perfectly good draught. His ebony fingers uncorked the top. Then, he downed it in one go.

It was sweet… a little to sweet for his liking, enough to break through his lack of smell. Almost nauseatingly so. Bah, he still had to understand why they insisted on using strawberries and flowers for these. There had to be more potent and effective ingredients for them. They weren't supposed to taste good, for Akatosh' sake, they simply were supposed to heal.

Still, heal him it did.

The first thing he felt was the rumble of blood in his hearing canals, accompanied by a faint burning sensation in his nostrils. Second was the scent of leaves, clean, stone, dust, metal, energy, sweat and confused female. Third, fatigued breaths, careful steps, hissing steel and humming power.

He could tell Veronica was descending the half-destroyed stairs. At certain moments she was jumping steps that missed, others she was placing her feet on unstable ones. She cursed when she almost slipped; at last, she leapt down the last three feet and her robes rustled. She had glanced at him. On her was the scent of fear, all but overpowered by caution. Perfectly understandable after what she had just seen. "Fucking hell…"

"Yes, I do believe you could say that." Eyes-Of-Silver assured her. He turned around, his talons scraping on the cracked tiles. He enjoyed every last bit of her confusion, but avoided laughing in her face. "Surprised, are you not?"

Veronica kept her eyes on him for a moment, until they wandered down to his right hand – and the small, empty flask he was holding. She frowned deeply. "You… drank that. And now you can hear again."

"One may argue you have witnessed feats a thousandfold more outstanding in the course of the last twenty minutes." Eyes-Of-Silver corrected her, smiling. It wasn't that all-fangs, bloodlusting smile he wore in combat; this was his jovial one. Or at least, to him it felt jovial. Especially if he raised a brow in amusement. "But of all things, you concern yourself with a healing potion?"

Veronica made to reply, then thought better of it and just burst out in melodious laughter. She shook her head, held her rifle loosely across her chest, and grinned back at him. Fear had vanished from her - at the very least, she was good at hiding it. "Point taken."

Eyes-Of-Silver accepted this little victory and her regained trust with a courteous bow. He scanned the room for anything of interest, but found little of import. Save for a tree the size of a large flower, that was puzzling and aesthetically beautiful… and completely useless, unless it held the secrets on how to get to House. He somehow doubted it. "I suggest we return to the previous room."

After a moment of looking around, Veronica gave him a nod. "Agreed."

While Veronica took the normal doorway to get there, Eyes-Of-Silver chose to go through the hole of his size he had made in the wall. He had created it in the first place, might as well put it to good use. After he went through, he wasn't all that surprised to see no damage had been made to the room – except for the fine dust covering a great deal of the floor. But then again, that was mostly his fault. Clearly those automated sentries deemed it extremely important.

The young woman immediately went over to the oversized terminal. She dropped her rifle and set it up against the base of the machinery cluster. Once her hands were empty, she started tapping away on one of the keyboards there, focusing on one of the smaller screens. The sharp clack of each key wasn't all that unpleasant. A repetitive sound, rapid, constant and sure. It faded to background rather easily.

What didn't, instead, was the sudden imperceptible buzz that filled the air and made his scales crawl. His head snapped to the terminal's main screen; Veronica did so, too, if only with a second or two of delay.

An enormous face appeared on it. It shone a faint green against the field of black behind. It was a man's, possibly in his late fifties. He could have been described as… charismatic, maybe handsome when in his youth and with a different haircut. His eyes were hard and narrow, as though they were scowling against some enemy. His lips were pursed, his jaw possibly clenched, his perfect mustache almost straight.

"**I know what you're thinking.**" The same voice he'd heard downstairs spoke. Now there was none of the smugness it had possessed before. It was a monotone – fairly angry, he was sure. "**You believe you're going to right a wrong by killing me, Robert Edwin House, that-**"

Veronica tapped a single key. The screen went black again, and the 'no signal' writing reappeared. She let out an exasperated snort, shaking her head. "The only thing I believe is that you've got to shut up." She growled, then looked over her shoulder. "By the way, I think I know where he is."

"Oh?" Eyes-Of-Silver managed, his interest piqued. He would have raised his ears had he been in wolf form. The prospect of tearing that face apart lighted that spark of hatred in him. "Where?"

Veronica nodded towards the twin staircase in response. "Elevator." She informed him. "I've got to stay to get you there."

Eyes-Of-Silver balled his fists in anticipation, as though he could already feel House's tender throat between his fingers. He grunted out an affirmative and went up the broad steps. They creaked under his mass, but none of them bent. His talons left marks in them, yet he didn't care. He had just one target, one more prey. So he walked into the cage that was to bring him to the coward.

His eardrums caught a diminuitive groan of strained metal, immediately dismissed as unworthy of notice. This thing had taken his weight and that of the lass, it was going to be fine with over a hundred pounds less to endure. The doors closed before his eyes. A grin split his scarred lips. House was going to pay for his ambushes, for how he had dared attack them - he would pay in blood.

He licked his fangs.

* * *

Eyes-Of-Silver's focus on inventive ways to kill and maim was interrupted by an irritatingly cheerful ding. He clenched and unclenched his fingers. Well, it appeared this was the moment of truth.

Cold hit him.

Now, that made him frown. It was nothing he couldn't handle – he had spent the last few years in Skyrim – but it came as a surprise nonetheless.

This… wasn't quite a room. It consisted just of endless rows of tubes overhead, to his sides and underneath him, and a gangway that couldn't have been longer than fifty feet. At the end of it, an ovoid shape sat and glowed a faint blue, surrounded by all manners of machinery, terminals and other devices he had no use for. It was as cold as a Dwemer ruin, and the vapours in the air only aided with the feeling.

Astonishing how nothing had rusted.

Whatever the coffin with steamy glass was, House had to be in there. Hiding… he was a spineless worm, a mistake of nature, a _maggot_. He was going to enjoy every second of his last fight. The bastard was preparing himself, for sure.

"**One-two, one-two.**" Veronica's disembodied voice tried, echoing into the hollow space all around him. She sounded distracted. "**The quick scribe jumps over the lazy paladin. Hello? Can you hear me, Eyes-Of-Silver?**"

"Yes, I can." Eyes-Of-Silver calmly asserted. He veiled his frustration at House's immediate absence well enough. "I believe I may have located House. How do I kill him?"

"**Not much on your mind besides killing today…**" Veronica muttered. When he let out a snort at her snarkiness, she silenced. "**Alright, you've got to go to that… that **_**thing's **_**right side. There should be a terminal there.**"

Eyes-Of-Silver's long strides took him there without delay. He glanced around to try and make any sense of all the cables and buttons he was seeing – and failed. There were at least a dozen different screens there, all with countless words, numbers or symbols appearing and disappearing in lines. An impatient growl bubbled from his chest. "Would you care to clarify which one, lass?"

Veronica sighed. He heard hair being scratched. "**Small one, right next to the House's egg. The only one with two steady lines.**"

Eyes-Of-Silver looked. Right next to it, right next to it, right… there. It all but jutted from the machine itself. This one, as opposed to the bright metal of the egg-shaped chest, was made from dark steel like the rest of the room. He knelt to read what it said in its green text.

**ROBCO INDUSTRIES UNIFIED OPERATING SYSTEM  
COPYRIGHT 2075-2077 ROBCO INDUSTRIES  
-Server 6-**

**\ Welcome, Mr. House.**

Out of all that rubbish, the only words he understood were 'unified', 'system' and 'welcome' – other than 'Mr. House', of course. That one he recognised all too well. There was but one option highlighted in a less intense shade of eye-piercing green, almost as if inviting him to enact it.

** Unseal LS Chamber.**

"Yes, I would tell you to do whatever in Oblivion that means if I knew _how_." He growled at the inert screen. First, House was closed in a bloody glowing egg, cowardly as he was. Then, he couldn't open it because none of this technological, hellish contraption could bother to be intuitive to a new user. "Veronica, what am I supposed to do?"

"**Are you kidding me?**" Veronica huffed into… whatever it was she was speaking into. She paused for a moment to reflect on what she had just said, aided by the werewolf's growls. "**No, of course not, you lived in a magical medieval world… my bad. Press the button labelled 'enter'. It's the bigger one shaped like a fat, upside-down L.**"

Eyes-Of-Silver frowned. Shaped like a fat, upside-down L? What in Oblivion did that even-

Oh, there it was.

He tapped it gently with his pinky, so as not to crush it and the other four keys around it with his index. The screen winked out, to be replaced by other lines.

**\ Warning! Microbial Infection Risk. Proceed?**

** Yes.  
Back**

"Oh, please…" Eyes-Of-Silver murmured. He pressed the same button with a little more strength than necessary. A tiny intermittent writing appeared on the bottom of the screen.

**Starting…**

He stepped back from the terminal and back onto the catwalk to better savour the moment of House's defeat. Steam spewed in a geyser from a part of the sealed object, then from three more. The lid finally opened and went up, letting out a cloud of mist and obscuring the contents. He saw the shape of a man there, and smiled.

A machine whirred. It lifted what appeared to be a table, although he couldn't be too sure of it. There, it had to be House. As the steam dispersed, his excitement grew further and further. Oh, he just wanted to see the expression on his smug face when he paid for what he had tried to do…

Eyes-Of-Silver's smile faded away with the mist. He all but recoiled in disgust. "Hircine's horns!"

He had expected to meet a middle-aged man. What was strapped to the black slab of metal… Gods, how long ago had that shaking, withered _being_ been human? Colourless skin clung to his cadaveric frame loosely, like a noble's dress a size too large. Bones stood out against the absent, atrophied muscles; the organs could be seen pulse and shift weakly in his chest. His arms were held close to his ribs, with fingernails too curled even for a Hagraven. He smelled of nothing, only of aseptic air.

Tubes, lights and metal started from a plate over his heart, under his sternum, from a steel item covering his groin and a thousand more parts of him. How was he kept alive? Did these machines live in his stead, make his heart pump and lungs fill when they had no more strength of their own? Could he be considered alive, at this point?

No, no more than a Draugr. He was a corpse.

The werewolf couldn't help but stare at the man's head. Long, long strands of wispy beard fell down on his ancient collarbones. Divines, it was just a skull with skin hanging from it. Tiny cables were plugged into his nostrils, his ears, behind the back of his head. White eyes stared into nothingness… he was as blind as a Falmer, the only difference with the elves was the fleshy membrane covering their useless organs. He wore what might have been a crown, dark grey and immaculate, with lights winking on and off seemingly at random. It could have been bolted into his skull, for all he knew.

This… was Robert Edwin House.

"_Why… haaave youu… dooone this…?_" The corpse of Mr. House wheezed. No, he stood corrected. Draugar could shout, snarl their hatred in ancient tongues, fight. This husk… it couldn't. It could just hiss, and drool, and tremble. "_Centuriees of… preeeparaation… ssssooo muuch good, undooone…_"

Eyes-Of-Silver just looked at the cadaver's hands, clawing at the air. At the mucus oozing from his nose, eyes, mouth. He stared, and grimaced. There was no anger to fuel his soul. His blood didn't boil like it should have. He was just… disappointed. He couldn't bring his voice higher than a bitter whisper. "You have traded away your very humanity."

"_I paaiiiid… aaany price tooo… to pressssseerve… huumankiiiind…_" House managed to spit out. Was there anger in his voice? Fear? Hatred? He didn't know. It only brought him disgust, and maybe sadness. "_Whaaat would… wouuld youuu monsteeerssss knooow...?_"

Eyes-Of-Silver shook his head. This wasn't a foe to vanquish, this was just a megalomaniac, a madman – a helpless old man. What could he tell him?

His fists clenched at the thought of his friends' determination when faced with dishonesty, at how they had fought and turned the tables against a trap masked as an invitation."You tried to kill my _pack_ through subterfuge and ambushes, you have no pride, no honour – you are as far as you could possibly be from humanity." His eyes hardened. "You are pathetic."

"_I aaaam… the greeaatesssst maaan… aliiiive…_" House retorted. His lungs were going to fail, sooner or later. Machinery whirred behind him. He saw sparks fly. "_Youuu fiiight foor… nothiiing… you aaare… nothiiiing..._"

The mechanical arm lifting his table groaned dangerously. His skeletal hands fretted in distress, his head shook around as if to see what was happening and helplessly watch, incapable of preventing it. A couple of the lights on him died away.

The slab fell back.

Steel crashed against steel, sparks spat and flew from every part of House's coffin. Loudest of all, weak bones cracked. The table on which the breathing corpse rested was now sideways, propped against the terminals behind in precarious balance. Part of his skin had broken under the pressure of his crystal bones. He bled a black, thick fluid. Spasms and coughing fits racked him as he tried to scream his pain and failed.

Eyes-Of-Silver looked down to his own hands, then back up. Was there any glory to be had from this kill? Any satisfaction from hunting down this prey? House was just a deluded fool, who had sought immortality by shedding away whatever had made him a human in the first place. He was going to die in a few minutes at best, anyway.

He shook his head and faced about. The only sound to accompany him as he walked to the elevator were the tick of his talons against the metal of the gangway, and House's final, agonising breaths. The bastard had been killed by his own madness, there was no need to interfere.

When he looked into the elevator's mirror, he could only see a grimace. The doors swung closed behind him. Veronica said nothing.

Such a grand hunt, all for a pathetic, mewling prey…


	21. The Fox

Screaming-Eagle's first sensation upon awakening was a splitting headache. Gods, it felt as though her head could fall apart if she so much as dared to open her eyes – which might have been gouged out of their sockets, for all she knew. All her muscles felt stiff, sore. She groaned her pain and groped numbly for her staff, but she only found… what was it, ice? The air was arid like in the middle of the Alik'r Desert, or the Mojave at this point, but the plate was cool to the touch.

Without thinking, she huddled closer to the source and pressed her head against it. A sigh of relief escaped her lips at feeling of blessed cold against her scales. Oh, damn that backstabbing snake House and damn his army – or rather, large platoon – of robots for having forced her to use that spell. Hadn't it been for Maria bolstering her Magicka pool, she may have very well killed herself with the effort. The cold helped her recover a little from the fatigue. Right, she could power through it, put her thoughts into a semblance of order once more…

She noticed she was halfway between sitting and laying down, for one. Her neck and part of her back were resting against something hard, something metal, and it sure as Oblivion wasn't helping with the ache. One of the wrecked robots, she supposed. The floor, on the contrary, was rather soft. It had to be carpeting. This couldn't be the same place in which she had lost consciousness, there had been no Securitrons there. She had been moved; it came to reason they had won the fight.

Someone chuckled impishly close by. A little girl, by the sound of it. Maria? Why would she giggle like that? "Naeera's right, you're really _cute_ together!"

Wait, what? Cute? What did that even mean? She was clinging to something cold, what was-

Oh. Oh, Gods. This couldn't be happening. Not to her. The cold made too much sense for her to feel comfortable now. It wasn't metal, it wasn't any form of technology or magic, nothing.

It was Stalhrim.

Screaming-Eagle uncertainly pried her eyes open, only to find her worst fears confirmed. Keram-Rei was fast asleep to her left, and anyone watching the scene might have thought she was holding on to him for dear life. Still, she found something reassuring about his presence at her side, about his athletic physique clad in that armor, about his-

She mentally slapped herself. No, the only thing she found in the situation was embarrassment.

She pulled away from him in the opposite way as fast as she could – that is to say, at a painful crawl. After making sure there was at least a full foot between them (which to her muscles felt like a thousand), she sat properly, dusted her arm and tried to blink the bleariness away. A pair of intense blue eyes met hers, surrounded by ginger tufts and soot-stained skin. That was about everything that stood out against the blurry mist that was her vision.

The room was the same in which she'd fainted. She supposed it was the casino floor of the Lucky 38, although much more damaged than before they had set foot inside. There was little she could focus on, everything was too far and much too hazy, so she decided to go for close.

"Maria?" Screaming-Eagle called. Her voice came out as a hoarse whisper. Divines, how could her throat ache, too? "Please… tell me you're the only one who's seen this."

"V and Becky are out, and Naeera and Mr. Wolf are downstairs, don't worry." Maria told her in a hushed tone, unable to keep her smile from surfacing. At least, that white stripe on her face had to be a smile. She was probably sitting cross-legged in front of her, almost as if to make guard.

Screaming-Eagle nodded, trying to understand what the little girl was saying and at the same time not breaking her neck with the movement. Something important must have happened. Perhaps they truly had won – and there was no way an eight year old like Maria could know exactly what. Instead, she glanced briefly to her left and raised a brow. "Why is Keram-Rei unconscious?"

"Oh, he shouted this thing and started glowing!" Maria answered excitedly, clapping her hands once. It almost looked like she had been waiting for that specific question. "Before you made that fire thingy he did that, and they hit him, but he didn't get hurt! He beat the robots because he shot magic lightning from his hands!"

Eldritch glow? Amazing resistance? Increased magic capabilities? Oh, right, he had used Dragon Aspect. She remembered it now, the idiot's gambit. But… why was he lying senseless? The Shout was extremely taxing on energies, true; she usually came out exhausted after its effects faded. However, she had never been knocked out completely. Could it have something to do with his particularly strong soul? Was feeding its great power too much of an effort for him? She brought up a hand and stroked at her nostrils first, then she found her target and caressed her chin. A question to ask him later, when her body and mind would function properly once more.

"Say, where is my staff?" Screaming-Eagle asked the little girl. She shifted into a more comfortable position and wrapped her robes closer about her. She was feeling a little naked without it.

Maria didn't answer. She reached behind her, took something in both hands and presented her the black Hist staff – perfectly immaculate crystals gleaming and little chains rattling. The mage snatched it, almost viciously, and instantly placed it across her knees. Then she sighed, closing her eyes and slumping her shoulders. Much better.

After little more than a few seconds, wood creaked and groaned dangerously somewhere ahead of her. She saw horns, spikes and white scales appear from behind the railings. They were soon to be followed by a blood-drenched armor, bestial feet, and a couple of green, long-necked bottles held between brown-black fingers. Screaming-Eagle instinctively quivered a little. He was a giant to her when she was on her feet. Now he was twice as towering, and thrice as intimidating.

Of course, the werewolf being himself, he reached down to ruffle Maria's hair with his free hand. His quicksilver eyes focused on her as he flashed her a grin. She was glad she could start putting things in focus. "I am glad to see you have awoken so soon."

His impossible bass rumbled like distant thunder, making her insides tremble slightly. She couldn't help but return the smile. "Eyes-Of-Silver. I take it the ambush has been averted?"

"Oh, absolutely." Eyes-Of-Silver chuckled. He deposited the two bottles between her and Keram-Rei, then folded his arms across his chest and added raised eyebrows to his scarred expression. "Every single machine has been destroyed, me and Veronica have vanquished any that may have been lying in wait for us, and Robert Edwin House is no more." He pointed at one of the large flasks. "Before we proceed to inform you about the situation in detail, though, I believe you should drink that philter. All of it, I may add."

Screaming-Eagle glanced at it. It was a deep forest green. A vigor elixir, and a potent one at that. She didn't need him to tell her twice before she scrabbled the cork away with her fingernails. After the first gulp she had her confirmation: the thickness of Netch jelly, the consistency of powdered mammoth tusks, and the gossamer sensation of wisp wrappings.

It tasted absolutely awful and almost made her retch it out, but once she'd drained the flask the effects were immediate. Her headache simply disappeared as though it had never been there, her eyes shot into focus, and her muscles regained every lost ounce of energy. She aided herself to her feet with her staff purely for her unstable balance, certainly not for lack of strength.

The first big lungful of air brought dust, burned carpeting and fused metal with it. She saw a sofa still intact, surrounded by destroyed furniture, and the little jagged shapes of broken bottles behind a cracked and splintered bar counter (how she hadn't noticed it in the first place, she didn't know). There were three Securitrons scattered about, probably Keram-Rei's handiwork, and behind her two of them had been stacked to serve as a backrest. It could only have been Eyes-Of-Silver.

"Yes, now you may proceed." The werewolf said cheerfully, beaming. He motioned vaguely towards the sleeping form of Keram-Rei as he knelt down and took the other potion in hand. Maria immediately bounced over close to him. "I shall awaken him shortly, do not worry. Feel free to go downstairs and ask Naeera about the current situation."

Screaming-Eagle nodded out of politeness – it wasn't like she was going to _intentionally_ talk to Naeera. She planted her staff to support herself a little better. Then, she half-limped over to the stairs and down each step. As she moved closer to the ground, she saw more and more of the robots she had sheared in half with her Destruction skills. Her forces all but failed her at the thought of the spell she had unleashed.

It wasn't common fire she had used. It was pure heat, as strong and boiling as the depths of the Red Mountain, as powerful and relentless as the blazing sun. The simple fact she had devised such magic, that she had exerted her control over it for a few seconds, was enough to make her smirk with pride. She'd like to see any mage try and do what she had done without failing or outright dying. It did have its drawbacks, of course. Unless she found an ailment for it, she could forget about using any form of spell before she drank a gallon of Magicka potion or slept for twelve hours straight.

Well, she guessed she was going to ask Keram-Rei for such a draught later. He was almost certainly going to accept, maybe grow a little nervous around her in that amusing way of his, but the thought he might have crafted those potions with his hands like he did with food-

Oh, for Mara and Dibella's sake, not again! She had simply forgotten to buy her own elixirs before falling into this cesspool of a world.

She clenched her teeth down onto her thoughts as she got into the casino's main floor. She was greeted by upturned slot machines, shattered tables, more broken automatons, and wall edges very nearly pulverized by bullet holes and laser marks. Most of the carpets had been burned; the ones that hadn't were filled with either wood splinters or glass shards.

Some of the lights were missing. It didn't help in the slightest with sight, since the red lanterns hadn't provided much illumination in the first place. It all added up to the eeriness of the place – which now looked much more suited to the post-nuclear world it belonged to. A nice thing, that they had managed to ruin even this little untouched haven in the Mojave wasteland.

Standing amidst the destruction on the wide lowered space between the elevator and the exit, toying with her daggers and tapping a tune on one of the wrecked Securitrons, was the thief. Screaming-Eagle was careful to avoid looking Naeera in the eye. Always in her scales-tight suit, always happy, always averting her eyes whenever the two of them were in the same room. Only when Keram-Rei had been wounded had they ignored the other's presence in silent truce. Now that Keram-Rei was fine, that thieving little rat had absolutely no reason to address her personally.

"Good to have you back, by the way." Naeera said in her high, sharp and mildly loathsome voice. Their eyes locked for a second – a second in which the mage was more than glad to glare back and snort. The thief looked away with a shake of her head. "Or your magic, anyway…"

"A shame the same cannot be said of you." Screaming-Eagle growled out in greeting. She felt her fingers tighten uselessly against the staff. Oh, she would have gladly blasted her away with anything painful enough to be remembered. "Tell me, did you cower behind a wall while we fought for you?"

Naeera cracked her knuckles and started towards her, teeth bared and eyes narrowed, before she stopped just one step away from her snout. Snout which was a good head over the thief's own. She held up a hand, sighed, and stared levelly at her. "You know what? I'm not falling for any of your stupid shit again. You want to act high and mighty? Fine. Not my problem." Her eyes hardened. "And my 'cowering behind a wall' saved Keram-Rei. Pretty sure I've done my part in the fight."

Screaming-Eagle couldn't help but blink at that. Part of her hostility boiled away, replaced by surprise. That was… unexpected. Well, not really, she had been friendly enough with Keram-Rei in the last few days to explain such a thing, but still. How was she supposed to react now? She hated her, oh if she loathed the tiny harlot, but she had saved Keram-Rei…

"Yeah, that's what I thought." Naeera snorted bitterly. She took a couple of steps back, and sat onto the Securitron wreck she had been rapping her knuckles on. "Anyway, Eyes-Of-Silver killed Mr. House. Something big happened, because there's a lot of people outside, and that NCR soldier, Banner, got here to give Phoenix a letter or something." She stroked at her jaw, then snapped her fingers as though she'd remembered something important. "Oh, and Phoenix and Veronica are out to kill this Benny guy. I wanted to come, but they didn't want to draw even _more_ attention."

Oh, if there wasn't any reason she could hate the thief for at the moment, at least Screaming-Eagle could feel annoyed by her gab. She leaned against the closest wooden table which, miraculously enough, hadn't been annihilated, and sighed. Good thing Keram-Rei had been trying to keep a low profile, with the importance of not being noticed and all… instead they had apparently destroyed the status quo of the entirety of New Vegas – something that the populace had mysteriously found out about, if Naeera's words and the muffled voices from outside were any indicator. The backs of her eyes began to throb dully with the beginnings of yet another headache. Naeera had enough sense to keep quiet and leave her to her brooding.

This wasn't her idea of not getting involved. Things had gone wrong the very moment Keram-Rei had accepted to help Phoenix. Not that she hadn't needed their help, the poor girl had and still did. But the more they grew attached to a world that wasn't their own, the harder it was going to be parting from it. How stupid of her to have thought about new starts and all that, this place was just _dreadful_. People fought for the most basic of needs such as food and water, there were raiders everywhere, madmen, war, radiations, and to top it all, she was in the middle of a ruined city in a desert.

Great, just great. She had no idea how it hadn't occurred to her they had to get away from this concoction of dust and death that was the Mojave wasteland the moment she saw it. She'd take a trip to the Deadlands any day. Dagon's anarchy… no, by Oblivion, Sheogorath's _whims_ made more sense than this place.

She hated it.

* * *

The mage looked up shortly afterwards at the sound of creaking steps. Eyes-Of-Silver was coming down the staircase, accompanied as always by Maria and followed by Keram-Rei. Astonishingly enough, the battlemage still looked bleary after drinking their stamina elixir. He rubbed at his eyes, slowly descended the steps, and yawned.

Screaming-Eagle observed his sluggish, confused movements with a little puzzlement of her own. Okay, something was wrong with him. It wasn't possible for Dragon Aspect to have left him so drained.

"So, I suppose our duty has been discharged, eh?" Eyes-Of-Silver began with a clap of his hands and a grin, glancing towards each of them amiably. "Or rather, given our current position, we may be the ones who have been discharged for the time being. What shall we do now?"

"We stay here." Screaming-Eagle announced, hitting the ground with her staff to punctuate her words (and vent her outrage). Was there even a reason for them to discuss where to go? The only calm place in three days, save for the little office building by Lake Mead, and he was no doubt already thinking about marching and hunting through the wastes again. "This tower will be a great asset. House is dead, he won't need it. We, on the other hand, have finally found a place to call our own."

"That part was pretty obvious, Screaming-Eagle." Keram-Rei grunted. He chuckled at her scowl and raised a brow. "He didn't ask where we had to stay, he asked what we're going to do."

Screaming-Eagle drew in a deep breath. "Give me a week. By then, I will have analyzed the Overseer's memories and found a way to return to Nirn."

As Maria huddled closer to Eyes-Of-Silver, Naeera let out an incredulous laugh, wide-eyed. "So let me get this straight: we fuck House over, create a vacuum of power that might start a civil war, and you suggest we just _go away_? Are you out of your gods-damned mind?"

"No, I simply do not care for this 'New Vegas'." Screaming-Eagle admitted bluntly, heedless of her reaction. It was true: why would she care? Moreover, she disliked the city. A gambling den, where dishonesty and violence were the only means of rising above the crowd of milling idiots. She'd had enough of that in Skyrim. Here, the feelings were amplified tenfold. "This is their problem to solve. Elect a new leader, found a council, follow the strongest warlord - they have options, it's their fault if they sit around and fight. These people have been striving for over two centuries, what is some unrest for them? What I care about is returning to a world that's alive."

"That won't do, we have to set things right at least." Keram-Rei objected, cementing her image of a rather handsome idiot. He casually picked at the tips of his horns with his fingers. "Say, what about the NCR? They've got a government, and an army. They can take care of Vegas. They can defend Nevada from the Legion, right?" He shrugged. "Leave it to them. We can help if they want."

Screaming-Eagle considered his words. It wasn't a bad idea, and it would appease those who didn't want to leave New Vegas leaderless. Yes, it may just work. Left them a great deal less problems to cope with anyway, and time for her to find a way back home.

"Fuck it, they're going to be just as bad as House." Naeera protested as always. She clenched her fists in anger and glared over to him. "I know it, I grew up in Riften's Ratway. The poor won't notice a different ruler, things will always go bad for them. There's always going to be people starving to death, or living on the streets, NCR or no. They're greedy bastards, they just want to line their pockets, everyone does. They're going to place the city under martial law, they've only got an army here." She nodded to herself, and looked up, around the casino. She grinned. "But hey… we've already got money, in gold. And with House out of the way, with his place, I bet we could make a difference."

Screaming-Eagle stared at her as though she had just proposed to marry a Dragon and live happily ever after on some desolate crag in the Jerall Mountains.

"Bah, I am no politician, nor have I ever let myself be entangled in such affairs." Eyes-Of-Silver waved her off. At least he was showing a modicum of common sense, much to the mage's relief. "I have little interest in your proposals, although I have to say, Naeera's intrigues me. 'Tis true, I may not be a nobleman nor a man of state, though there is four of us." He grinned. It wasn't as amiable as before. "Who would dare rise against us? With our might, we shall strike fear into the hearts of any foolish enough to attempt to rebel."

Apparently, Eyes-Of-Silver would have made for a fine best man. Kudos to the Dragon.

"Have you two lost your minds and forgot to look for them, taken as you were by your insanity?" Screaming-Eagle blurted out in amazement. She had made the thief untrustworthy and capable of no good advice from the beginning, but the werewolf had appeared rational to her. "Do you even _know_ what ruling a small community means? It's hellish; and here we are talking about an entire city! There may be thousands of people in New Vegas and the surrounding slums. Have you any, _any_ idea how hard it is to consider the resources, needs, mood and requirements of so many people?" She gasped at the weight, at the sheer implications of such a thing. "This is ludicrous!"

Keram-Rei hummed pensively. When he noticed their eyes were on him, he cleared his throat and blinked. "Oh, ah, well… I'm not saying we should do this, but technically, we _did_ have to consider the morale of our troops, their movements, their equipment and all that when we were Legates, Screaming-Eagle." He looked to the thief and werewolf. "Unless you weren't-"

"My cohorts and I took Windhelm in a single day of battle." Eyes-Of-Silver proudly stated, beaming and clasping his right fist to his breastplate. "Orcish berserkers and Nordic shock troops. Ulfric's whelps could not stand a chance against us."

"Scouts, infiltrators and assassins." Naeera chuckled impishly. "The Emperor's daggers, they called us."

"Alright, that just further proves my point." Keram-Rei picked up again, wiggling his fingers together nervously. "So… take away the discipline, most of the fighting, and make it full-time… yeah, I mean, it's not all that different, right?"

Screaming-Eagle gawped at him.

"Well, there certainly is no place for executions on the basis of insubordination." Eyes-Of-Silver helpfully added. She barely saw Keram-Rei flinch. "Nor can we order them around, or expect them to fear and respect us immediately and solely upon our rank. But it does sound quite similar, yes."

"It's going to be like Skyrim all over again." Naeera interjected smugly, her arms folded across her chest (and under her unnatural breasts). "We help people, make a name for ourselves out there, and we're golden."

Screaming-Eagle felt her mouth slowly hang open. Did they even know what they were saying? She had no idea how any of them hoped to accomplish anything this way. She worked her jaw, lips and tongue into motion until she managed to make a sound. "What?"

Keram-Rei scratched at his feathers. "It's not really going to be that easy… but we could try."

"Excuse me, _what_?!" Screaming-Eagle barked at last, wide-eyed and aghast at each and every one of them save for Maria. The more she listened to all this, the more she wanted to plunge her staff into her hearing canals to stop hearing such atrocious idiocies. "There is no _trying_ with a ruling body! Do you seriously believe four non-human military officers from another world could possibly rule this city? We don't have the capabilities nor the mindset to do such a thing! A city isn't an army. And even if we did, this is not our world, this is not our problem, this is not our purpose! We come from Nirn, and I surely don't intend to waste away into this Gods-forgotten desert. We don't belong here." She glared at them in turn. When none replied immediately, she thrust her staff's bottom into the carpeted floor. "We have been here for three days, we don't know how in the name of the Divines we even got here, and you are already thinking about _settling down_ and _ruling the land_? What is wrong with you?!"

She blew out a snort, clenched her jaw, and narrowed her eyes for any of them to reply to that. Sure enough, Eyes-Of-Silver and Keram-Rei exchanged an uncertain glance. Naeera looked down, suddenly interested in her talons.

"You wanna go away?" Maria broke the silence. Her voice was little more than a hushed whisper, full of worry and sudden sadness, her bright blue eyes focused on her. "Already?"

Screaming-Eagle felt an acute pang of guilt in the pit of her stomach. Which she normally shouldn't, because she had known Maria for less than three days, and yet that betrayed expression still punched her. She… was her student, after all. Her eight year old student. Ah, damnation, had this happened a year before she would have probably ignored the child, or slapped her away. Now, though…

"Pfft, no way." Naeera reassured the little girl, hopping off from her perch on the Securitron and going over to ruffle her hair. "But she's kinda right, you know. We come from far away, and… our home is just so much better than here. We just miss it, that's all."

_Yes, and I want to get back to it instead of living here._ Screaming-Eagle added as a thought, narrowing her eyes ever-so-slightly on the thief.

As Maria seemed to take some reassurance in Naeera's gesture, Eyes-Of-Silver knelt down in front of the little girl to brush her displaced hair from her eyes. "Oh, do not worry, you could come with us if you wanted."

Maria's eyes lit up at that. "Really?"

"Yes, of course!" Eyes-Of-Silver jovially assured her. He lifted her chin with an index the size of a police baton to look into her eyes. "There are countless sights to see, the landscape is truly beautiful and diversified. Not only a scorching desert, mind you." He shrugged one shoulder. "Well, there are two all right, but…" He grinned. "Do you know what a jungle is? A marsh? A thundra?"

Maria shook her head, eager for an answer and open-mouthed.

Before the werewolf could explain her the beauty of Tamriel, a noise from the door drew her attention. Each of them focused on the four panes of smoked glass at the end of the room. Phoenix and Veronica would have known how to come in, and they sure as Oblivion didn't need their permission to do so.

So who was knocking?

Screaming-Eagle stood up from the table, shared a curious glance with the rest of the Dragonborn, and frowned. Keram-Rei was the first to move towards the door; at this point, she decided to follow at his shoulder. Eyes-Of-Silver, Maria and Naeera fell in shortly after, until they spread out at roughly ten feet from the entrance.

Screaming-Eagle sighed at their sudden hesitation, deciding to step ahead and place her hand on the handle. She scowled at them. "It's way too early for someone to want our heads already."

Pulling the door open, she was greeted by a crowd standing just beyond the steps of the Lucky 38. There were dozens of people, mostly men and women in worn-out jackets, shirts or dresses. She spotted a couple of NCR soldiers amidst them, too. Two Securitrons waited at each side of the staircase, in front of the railings, doing absolutely nothing.

Of course, with her being an Argonian and having showed her teeth in a small fit of annoyance, most people in the crowd gasped loudly in surprise or shock. Some of them screamed, while a few of the braver (or dumber, depending on the point of view) took aim with a revolver or a similarly small weapon. She even saw a young woman or two faint. Quite coherent with their initial reaction, she may add.

The two men immediately in front of her, of course, caught her eye. One was well over his forties, with a lean, almost feminine face and cold gray-blue eyes. He was dressed in old brown trousers and jacket, under which he donned a white shirt and a black bow-tie. A dark fedora covered his short-cropped chestnut hair. The other fellow looked much younger, definitely in his early twenties, dressed in the exact same way – save for the lack of a hat, leaving his shoulder-length blonde hair unrestrained. He had green eyes, very close to the bottle green shade of Phoenix.

The older man gave her a chilly, self-satisfied smirk and tipped the brim of his fedora in salute.

The younger recoiled at her sight, his eyes wide with fear, but soon regained his self-control and simply nodded.

Behind her, Naeera let out a nonplussed snort. "What the fuck do you want?"

For once, Screaming-Eagle agreed with her. She had never seen the likes of them before. They both had a military air to them, evident in their upright posture and disciplined stance, in how they carried themselves. Neither of them was particularly imposing, but the older one's gaze gave her an idea of danger, a sparkle of rational insanity she mistrusted, almost feared.

The man's smirk turned into a smile as his fingers left the fedora. It was as cold as Solstheim's winter nights. "The eyes of mighty Caesar are upon you."

The half-whispered words made Screaming-Eagle's blood freeze in her veins. Keram-Rei all but choked on the news, Naeera hissed like a trampled rattlesnake, Maria gave a strangled cry.

The Legion? How? The Legion was in Arizona, well beyond the Colorado River, the Hoover Dam and the NCR forces stationed at the border. Unless… well, unless these were some form of spies. How hard could it have been for them to sneak by at some point left undefended or unknown to the Republic? Why, if she were Caesar, she would have established a network of informants and agents to find out everything the enemy's movements. These two had known where to find her group. How long had the Legion been observing them?

Then she noticed something that, quite possibly, chilled her more than these men's presence.

Eyes-Of-Silver had fallen silent.

"His admiration of your skills is second only to his curiosity." The legionary continued in his low, unnervingly calm tone, his eyes fixed on them. It was the voice of a man who could have throttled an infant and kept his cool all the while, maybe even enjoy the kill. "Still, however unnatural your very existence may be, my Lord sees much potential in you. As such, he bestows upon you the exceptional gift of his Mark."

He took a gold medallion from his breast pocked and held it out in front of him. Screaming-Eagle hesitated at first, then tore it from his fingers to avoid prolonged contact with him. The thing was as heavy as a gold coaster the size of her palm should be, attached to a leather lace and rough-edged like an ancient coin from the times of the Empire of Reman Cyrodiil. She felt the back of it was plain, whereas the front was decorated by a prancing bull and a High Tamrielic engraving: _Honor Caesaris_ – the Mark of Caesar.

Bah, like she needed the approval of a megalomaniac lunatic, or she was ever going to do his bidding. Screaming-Eagle resisted the urge to spit on it and throw it in the legionaries' eyes. Instead, she narrowed her own and showed her teeth in a grimace. "Who are you?"

"I am _Vulpes Inculta_, of Caesar's Legion." The older man presented himself with a curt bow. The smile never quite left his thin lips. "I serve my master as the greatest of his _Frumentarii_. This beside me is Titus, who wished to prove himself in the eyes of great Caesar."

A frumentarius, of course. A member of the secret services as she'd suspected. The Empire had its spies, too, comprised of the most despicable and untrustworthy personalities she had ever had the disgrace to meet. A necessary evil, though. Their utility far surpassed their tolerability. In any case, his name was familiar – and he must have been fairly infamous, if Maria's whimpers were anything to go by.

Keram-Rei appeared at her shoulder, fangs bared and growling. "You're the bastard Phoenix told us about! You destroyed an entire town and killed everyone to prove a fucking point!"

Screaming-Eagle took a disgusted step back, followed by a snarl. The battlemage was right, it was _him_. That was the monster Phoenix had talked about, the man who had slaughtered countless people only to show what the Legion was capable of. She felt her gorget rising at the thought of facing such a being.

In all this the younger man, Titus, was failing to keep his calm mask in place. Sweat trickled down from his hair and into the neck of his shirt. His breathing had quickened by… either looking at Keram-Rei, or by the horror of what had just transpired. Probably the latter. If he was new as a frumentarius, perhaps he couldn't keep his feelings in check just yet. Besides, what could he possibly fear from Keram-Rei that Eyes-Of-Silver wasn't capable of?

Vulpes Inculta tut-tutted, although his grin broadened in stark contrast. "Oh no, that is where you and your Courier friend are wrong." He flicked his wrist. "You see, out of the seventy-eight profiligates living in the city, one won his freedom by grace of Mars, another had the permission to live and crawl like the worm he is, and three more will now be able to redeem themselves by serving Caesar as slaves." He chuckled smugly, as if discussing a successful game of poker. "After all, that is what those vermin are good for. As for the rest, they did not deserve to live."

Screaming-Eagle wanted to strike him down, but she had neither the Magicka nor the stupidity to do so. She settled for a low hiss, in tune with Naeera's. If they so much as lay a finger on him and his friend, then the entirety of the Legion was going to know it. Caesar was bound to have more spies to replace their loss, and a perfectly good reason to actively hunt them down instead of seeking their help. Something like Vulpes Inculta's death may be the spark to light the fires of war. At the very least, if that was not the case, the Legion was going to redouble their war efforts and increase its presence everywhere in Nevada.

They couldn't touch him. And the bastard knew it. He knew it and just stood there, taunting them, within arm's reach and yet so far away… in time, he was going to pay. She knew it as she held her staff as though she wanted to strangle it instead of him, as she glared daggers at the flagitious monster, as behind her Keram-Rei and Naeera struggled to stay back. Good thing Phoenix wasn't there, and they were all being rational. Furious, outraged, murderous – but rational. Things might have been even worse for them if-

A shove made Screaming-Eagle lose her balance. She fell to the ground with a yelp of surprise, while her staff's clatter was silenced by the stuffed floor. Naeera landed with a roll and helped Maria keep her footing. Keram-Rei crashed face-down into the carpeting with a muffled curse.

A second later, Vulpes Inculta and Titus had been dragged into the Lucky 38 and thrust against the railings. The open door slammed closed, rattling on its hinges.

Eyes-Of-Silver stood over them.

The werewolf didn't howl, didn't growl, his breaths weren't heavy with rage. He seemed perfectly calm. She noticed with growing disquiet that any expression had vanished from his face, leaving only the dead eyes of a savage beast behind. Keram-Rei was about to shout at him, but fell silent before he even started. Their eyes, however, were now entirely focused on the towering Dragonborn. She couldn't even stand up, paralyzed as she was.

The younger legionary tried to stand up and take something from the depths of his jacket. When he was already on his knees, Eyes-Of-Silver's backhander across the man's chest sent him sprawling back with a chilling crack of broken ribs. He moaned and found it wiser not to stand up again.

Vulpes Inculta didn't even attempt it, either too dazed or too pained by the throw to do so. Eyes-Of-Silver took a slow, deliberate step towards the frumentarius and bent, grabbing him by the throat. He struggled and kicked at the two feet of air underneath him, trying to pry the werewolf's metal fingers open with his own. Some increase of pressure made him abruptly stop. His eyes were fixed into the two quicksilver orbs, his breathing labored and rasping.

"Greetings, _Vulpes Inculta_." Eyes-Of-Silver spoke. His tone never quavered with emotion, it was as calm and cold as the whispers of the dead; his features never betrayed any unspoken feeling. "I am _Lupus Vorax_. Tell me, spineless worm, why did your arrogance bring you here?"

Vulpes Inculta might have said something, anything, but apparently understood silence was his best chance of earning a quick death. There was no surviving the werewolf now, Screaming-Eagle knew it.

"As I thought." Eyes-Of-Silver sighed, impassible. He dropped the man to the ground and, while the frumentarius wheezed and coughed, took his crossed battleaxes from his back. "Slaughtering you without a chance to fight me back, fitting though it may be for subhuman scum like you, brings me no honour." He paused for an instant, in which he clasped his axes together. "Not that a creature such as you would know anything of honour. To your feet, maggot."

Screaming-Eagle found herself horribly fascinated by the exchange. The man was about to die, and yet Eyes-Of-Silver was toying with him, taunting him before delivering the final blow. Why? In the other two or three fights she had witnessed, he had been much more straightforward and much more brutal. She used her staff to stand up, noticing how Naeera, Maria and Keram-Rei were already on their feet.

Vulpes Inculta climbed to his feet; unsteady, but determinate. He unbuttoned his jacket, took it off and left it on the railing behind him. He threw a defiant snort in the werewolf's direction. "Kill me, and ten more will take my place. The Legion will hunt you down, Wolf." He let a ferocious smile touch his lips. "You, and your pathetic group of degenerate lizards and weak women."

Screaming-Eagle growled in unison with Naeera at the last sentence.

"Good, let them come, I could do with the practice." Eyes-Of-Silver answered casually, distractedly. He turned and walked up to an amazed Keram-Rei, offering his natural hand. "Your sword."

The battlemage looked at him as though he'd asked for him to undress himself, but an insistent repetition of the gesture was more than enough to make him part with his sword. The werewolf held the blade like a dagger and cast it in the direction of the frumentarius, who eagerly took it by the hilt and held it curiously, sideways. He didn't adopt Keram-Rei's one-handed, flexile stance with it. He instead brandished the sword two-handed. It was something she had never seen anyone do in Skyrim. But then again, she wasn't a swordswoman nor did she particularly care for such a thing.

Eyes-Of-Silver took position some fifteen feet away from Vulpes Inculta, his battleaxe held in both hands, and thrust his chin towards his opponent. "Now we may begin."

Screaming-Eagle had many adjectives to describe Vulpes Inculta, and 'stupid' certainly wasn't one of those. He knew he was doomed, it showed in his sneer, in his clenched jaw; but he didn't charge headlong into the werewolf. They circled around, waiting for their respective opponent to move.

Less than five seconds passed before Eyes-Of-Silver apparently got bored and pounced towards the enemy, but Vulpes Inculta sidestepped and successfully landed a blow aimed at one of the armor's joints – only for it to be deflected by the thick plating of the bracer.

Eyes-Of-Silver elbowed the blade away. The frumentarius saw it coming and rolled to the right, his sword held at the ready for the following attack. The werewolf charged a downwards chop with preternatural speed and thunderous force, which Vulpes Inculta narrowly evaded, wobbling a bit as he caught his footing once more and as a one-foot long gash was opened in the carpeting.

At that, Eyes-Of-Silver swung the axe low and sideways. In an attempt to deflect the blow, Vulpes lost the blade and was left unbalanced, unarmed and undefended. The werewolf dropped his battleaxe to the ground, too, as though he were actually trying to give his opponent a fair chance. He simply stalked forwards, staggered him with a clout on the ear and gripped his hapless opponent by the throat with his ebony arm as he had in the beginning.

Screaming-Eagle wasn't even surprised at this point. She just found it a little cruel on the werewolf's part, but if anybody deserved being toyed around, it was Vulpes Inculta. Especially after the comment on lizards and women. That had just made it personal.

"I win." Eyes-Of-Silver calmly asserted. He gazed back at the other Dragonborn and Maria. The mage shivered when his eyes met hers; to see the merry and mirthful light completely extinct in them sent chills down her spine. In a moment, he turned his head to focus on the half-unconscious legionary not too far from him. The frumentarius writhed feebly under the metal fingers, half-heartedly, in defeat. "I have bested this man in single combat and have not assassinated him with cowardice. Does your debased Legion hold honourable duel in account?"

The young man, Titus, was holding at his chest as though his ribs may fall to the ground if he let go. He managed a weak nod. "Y-yes…"

Eyes-Of-Silver grunted his acknowledgement. His eyes went back to his victim. "If we had it my way, I would have shattered your wrists and ankles, hamstrung you, skinned you alive, devoured your heart and kept your head as a personal trophy for all to see on my hip."

Screaming-Eagle felt this morning's cantaloupes lurching in her stomach at the mention of all those charming little things, especially the part about devouring his heart. It reflected on everybody else's face – especially on Vulpes Inculta's.

"However, I shall not do so." The werewolf continued in his low monotone. "There is a child here. But you have fought decently for a worm, and you have earned a quick death. May Arkay deny you any peace."

His fingers clenched with a crushing noise, Vulpes Inculta's neck snapped. The man's head lolled after the crack, and his body went limp. Eyes-Of-Silver dropped the dead frumentarius and spat on the corpse, then dragged the injured legionary to his feet and stared into his unfocused eyes. The younger man groaned in pain, but he kept him firmly in place. "Go back to your Caesar. Inform him that I have challenged his prime frumentarius to a fair fight, and he has succumbed."

Titus cried something that might have been either a confirmation or an insult. In the way of a reply, Eyes-of-Silver lifted the injured man by the scruff, opened the door and flung him outside like a dead weight. The screams of the crowd outside confirmed he had rolled down to their feet.

Screaming-Eagle blinked. She shook her head to recover from the whole thing, let out a sigh she only then noticed she had been holding and shared a worried look with Keram-Rei and Naeera. The battlemage grimaced, the thief shrugged.

Maria managed to extricate herself from Naeera's hold and trotted up to the werewolf. She took his pinkie finger in her hand and pulled to earn his attention. She was frightened out of her mind, her wide eyes on him in fear he might go feral. "Mr… Mr. Wolf?"

The huge Argonian paused for an instant. Abruptly, as though what had happened before had all just been a dream, Eyes-Of-Silver dropped to his knees and hugged the little girl tight. Screaming-Eagle felt disturbed by his sincere smile. How could his mood change so suddenly? "Hush, little one. Everything is going to be all right."

Tiny arms tried to hug him back and failed, only reaching halfway over his sides. "You scared me, Mr. Wolf!"

"Do not be afraid, I was… furious." Eyes-Of-Silver answered with unsettling softness. He unwrapped his arms from around her and grinned at her. "Now that the evil man has been dealt with, there is nothing else for you to fear."

Screaming-Eagle stared at the corpse with unease. Gods, the heartless way in he had cracked the man's neck was ten times more chilling than when he had charged the Fiends, laughing and disemboweling as he went. She could never have imagined he could be so cold-blooded one moment, and then comfort a little girl the next.

She was beginning to have the nasty little suspicion that maybe he wasn't as sane as he looked.

Keram-Rei sheathed his sword. Screaming-Eagle tried to suppress the dark thoughts. Eyes-Of-Silver retrieved his axes and remained in silence with Maria.

Naeera shrugged as if nothing had happened. "Guess we'll just have to wait for Phoenix to sort this mess out?"

* * *

As it turned out, they didn't have to wait more than ten minutes.

The central-left door opened without a creak. Phoenix strode inside with brisk, purposeful steps and hard eyes that softened up a little when the whole group looked at her. Screaming-Eagle noticed the spatters of blood on her chest, and a broad gray coin in her right hand.

"Benny's done for." The girl announced crisply. Behind her came Veronica, whose cheerful mood hadn't been abated in the slightest. "I have the Platinum Chip, and… and…"

She trailed off when she finally took notice of Vulpes Inculta's corpse. It had been left where it was, since Keram-Rei suggested she may have been pleased to see another of the men she hated dead. They had agreed unanimously – save for Maria, who had tried not to look at the frumentarius.

Veronica raised a brow at the sight. "Okay, I'm missing something. Why is there a dead guy on the floor?"

Phoenix looked up into Screaming-Eagle's eyes, searching for the answer she couldn't bring herself to find. As the girl walked closer, the mage observed the expressions chasing themselves on her face, from bewilderment to rage to glee, only for them to end with relief. She let out a liberatory laugh. Who knew how long that man had haunted her dreams with crucified bodies and a burning town.

"Is he dead?" The girl asked. Before any of them could reply, she kicked the corpse in the ribs. Another kick followed on the side of the head. "Yes you are, you fucking _monster_! Dead! Like Nipton! Did it hurt, huh?" She spat on it. "I hope it did!"

"Regrettably, he did not suffer any more than defeat and a broken neck." Eyes-Of-Silver recounted. He shrugged; he looked really, honestly _sorry_ he hadn't torn him apart like he'd said he would have. "Yet he is dead nevertheless. I find it his vertebrae were particularly satisfying to crush."

Screaming-Eagle grimaced at the specification. That… wasn't a necessary addition. True, she had been in more battles than she cared to count, but she found it best not to dwell on the sort of damage caused to a body by weapons, magic or bare hands. Details like that weren't pleasant. Not at all.

Phoenix twirled around towards the werewolf. She waited for the moment it took to process his words before she ran in his direction and hugged him. Eyes-Of-Silver looked puzzled, but went with a comforting pat on the girl's shoulder.

"_That is so heartwarming, even though you look so scary!_"

Screaming-Eagle's head snapped towards the source of the synthesized voice. She fumbled with her staff, only for the thought of having too little Magicka left and a raised hand from Veronica to stop her. Keram-Rei subsided, too, but Naeera took a step back behind Eyes-Of-Silver. Hmph, cowardly rat.

It was a Securitron. Only, much unlike the others they had met, this one wasn't pointing all of its weapons to kill them. Instead, it was waving one arm with the claws extended like an open hand. Another detail that set it aside from the other machines was the visage displayed on the screen. It wasn't a cowboy, nor a policeman.

It was a goofy smiling face.

"This is Yes Man." Veronica kindly informed the party, grinning broadly. "We found him hidden away in Benny's suite, and we figured he might be helpful. As it turns out, Benny had a plan for the Strip."

Screaming-Eagle's surprise and curiosity slowly faded away into horror. She liked none of the possible implications the word 'plan' brought with it. "What… plan? What was Benny planning?"

"_Oh, he wanted to kill Mr. House and use the Platinum Chip to copy my neuro-computational matrix onto the Lucky 38's mainframe!_" Yes Man provided with impossible cheer and never stopping for a breath. Which made sense, since the robot didn't have lungs in the first place. "_That would give me control over all of Mr. House's defenses, most prominently his Securitrons. And then I guess I just do as I'm told!_"

Do as he was told… well, Benny might have had really good or alluring reasons – mostly greed and lust for power – to go as far as to try and kill a teenager to get what he wanted. If she thought about all the power-hungry nobles she had seen over the course of the years, she would probably imagine he wanted to-

Oh no. In the name of all the Divines, the Daedric Princes and the Hist, this was just _insane_.

Keram-Rei and Eyes-Of-Silver must have realized it too, judging by their smiles. Naeera laughed.

"And now that House is dead…" Phoenix continued after walking in the middle of the group. She beamed at them. "A change of leadership is in order, don't you think?"

Screaming-Eagle pressed her forehead against her staff as if to try and quell the umpteenth migraine she was going to have. Gods, she hated this with all of her heart. Worst of all, there was nothing she could do to change their minds. She could only go one way now, and that way was forwards. Where it may lead…

Better not think of that just yet.


	22. A Tour of the Lucky 38

This place was _awesome_.

Maria was excited beyond words at everything she'd seen: from the giant room they'd thrashed, to the soft floor, to the destroyed metal things everyone kept calling robots, to the tiny steel room that she had been in with Naeera and Mr. Wolf. Well, alright, maybe the space there had been a bit cramped and slightly less awesome – but it had done nothing to dampen her mood.

The whole room where she stood now gave her the impression of impossible cleanliness. All surfaces were gray and shiny, there were colorful padded chairs and tables everywhere, and a few pictures hung from the walls behind her that showed things she had never seen. One only had clear sky and water on it, something she might have imagined if Lake Mead was as large as the heavens themselves, with a big boat on the waves. Another had a setting sun and the ground was completely _green_, dotted with whites and reds and blues which she didn't really understand. What were those supposed to be? Maybe it was a far-away land, where the sand was all colored and not just yellow. They reminded of flowers... but no, there was no way so many flowers could be in the same place at once.

Satisfied with looking at the two images on either side of her, Maria stomped a little on the square of cloth at the entrance (it felt _so_ soft), went to the railings and took in again the two sets of stairs that brought to the lower floor. Downstairs Becky and Eagle talked about something in hushed tones, while V was telling Ray and Mr. Wolf where to put boxes identical to the one she carried, trailing black cables behind themselves.

In one way or the other, she got the feeling they were all working with the weird thing that called himself 'Yes Man'. She hummed to herself at the sight of it and all the tubes and wires attached to it, leading to a giant black pane of glass. She had no idea what was going on, but it looked very important.

Oh, but that wasn't the best thing about the room, not by a long shot. Her lips split into a broad, happy grin that dispelled her perplexity once more. She dashed down the steps, risking to trip over at least two times, and bolted straight for the outer walls once again. She loved how they were made of glass. They were perfectly transparent and she could see through them like they weren't even there. They made up the entire wall, and all the rooms here had those on. Still, just their presence wasn't the main reason she loved the place.

The best thing was that she could see the whole world from there.

Maria had no idea how far that was. It sure felt like all of the Mojave was laid out for her to see. Old buildings stretched far and wide, sometimes tall, mostly short – there was McCarran, where… she shuddered and decided not to think about that. Today was going to be wonderful, no need to ruin it.

Then, far beyond those and the line of ancient houses at the edge of Vegas, began the desert proper. The expanse of yellow-orange rolled into the far-away hills, and then into the dark mountains. The sun blazed high in the sky, without a white spot to mark the vast expanse of blue. It looked like a really hot day outside, but the air here was cool and pleasant – unlike downstairs. Well, that was a relief. At least she wasn't drenched in sweat anymore.

Something beeped.

An intense buzz grated at her ears like a giant bloatfly passing by. It overwhelmed the sound of chatter in the room until it faded to the background. She turned around to see what was going on, but she saw nobody was talking or working anymore. They were just standing, looking at the still form of Yes Man. Naeera had appeared from somewhere, maybe another room, with a hand on her ear – well, where her ear would have been – and her face scrunched up in annoyance. Before she could speak, Yes Man crumbled to the ground.

Maria drew in a sharp, surprised and shocked breath. At the same moment, the buzzing ended in a low, imperceptible hum. A few green lights winked next to the black surface all the wires led to. One of the smaller panes of glass turned on to display nothing but white, followed by a next one, and the one after that.

Then Yes Man's giant face appeared in the middle of the largest glass construct.

"_Wow, Mr. House had quite a set-up here!_" He said cheerfully and loudly, almost as if voicing his thoughts to better put them in order. "_I can access his databanks and view telemetry on every Securitron on the network!_" He paused for a moment. "_Wait… oh, so that's what the Platinum Chip does! Interesting! Mr. House had a whole demonstration planned for you._"

Maria's eyebrows arched deeply. Aside from the fact that nothing he said made any sense, something didn't add up. She'd seen Yes Man fall to the ground like a sack of buffalo gourds. There was no way a robot (or anything else) could just _die_ and then start talking from somewhere else. How come the others her friends had destroyed couldn't do that, too? Or… maybe it was the bundles of wires that somehow made him speak? Maybe they carried his voice. Who knew. It wasn't important, at least he wasn't dead. She was starting to like him and his happiness.

"Demonstration?" Becky asked right away. She walked up to the base of… whatever it was Yes Man used for talking, both her hands on her hips. "What demonstration?"

In the way of a reply, a small, gray, round thing came out of a tiny slot near Becky. She picked it up with a puzzled frown – an expression reflected on everyone else's face, Maria included.

"_Just head downstairs to the lowest level to check it out._" Yes Man encouraged the black-haired girl. She still didn't get how he could always be so happy. Was it because of their new home? "_You'll see!_"

Maria lost pretty much any interest in the scenery at this point. She decided it might be best to get closer to Mr. Wolf, who welcomed her by putting his huge hand on her shoulder. Sure, this whole demonstration might be cool, who knew what sort of crazy stuff might be down there – but she wasn't going anywhere without Mr. Wolf or Naeera.

Becky turned to the group and bit her lip. "So…"

"Why not?" V piped up. She shrugged from her position near the new Yes Man, and jumped down the little step that brought there. "Sounds pretty interesting."

Eagle just sighed, massaging her forehead. She ultimately rolled her eyes. "Yes, at least we may learn something useful."

"That's great!" Phoenix exclaimed in visible relief. She rubbed her hands together, turning towards the others with eager eyes. "Anyone else?"

"Forget it." Ray announced, firmly shaking his head and folding his arms across his chest. "Sure as fuck it's going to involve robots, and I'm not getting anywhere near a Securitron after what happened downstairs."

"Yup." Naeera agreed. She cocked her head and jerked a thumb towards him. "I'm with him on this one."

Maria looked up in indecision.

Mr. Wolf stroked at his chin. He huffed a little, hummed pensively, and in the end he just shrugged. "I am more than certain such a demonstration is bound to involve weaponry... so no, I will not come with you." At the baffled look Ray gave him, he scowled at him. "Do you have any idea of how maddening it is to lose and regain your hearing multiple times?"

Well, that pretty much settled it. Becky, V and Eagle went over to the… wait, was it called elevator? Maybe they had mentioned it at one point. Anyway, as the doors closed and they disappeared, Maria was left with Mr. Wolf, Ray and Naeera. Which was fine by her, of course, but the place was kind of… big. She didn't really want to stay put all the time.

Maria pulled at Mr. Wolf's hand, meeting his eyes a moment later. "I wanna have a look around. Is it ok?"

Mr. Wolf ruffled her hair in response. She pressed her head against the gesture. She loved how delicate he could be, how good it felt, and how low was his chuckle. "You may do as you wish."

At the sound of those soft, booming words, she bolted for the giant hole in the wall and the other room. She all but slammed into a couple of huge metal hulks, bigger than Mr. Wolf and perfectly still. They weren't moving, they weren't attacking anyone, their backs were open – she was pretty sure they were dead. They weren't all that interesting, as weren't the chewed-up chairs, tables and plants around. She spotted the stairs to go up, which were unusable. Well... not really: every single step had been heavily damaged or pierced in some way. They looked stable enough for someone of her size and weight.

So she hopped up on the first piece of wood; it was little larger than her two feet. It barely creaked. Confident it was doable, she began jumping up every step with utmost care and precision. She got used to it, and by the time she climbed up to the higher floor, there wasn't even much of a challenge anymore. The place there was…

Empty.

There was literally nothing there except for a plant as tall as her, and an open door on the wall opposite of her. She aimed for it, hoping there was going to be something for her to find. Sure enough as she entered, the room on the same level was as empty as the one she'd left behind. She saw the furnishing downstairs had changed, though. There was a red stuffed bench in front of a dark brown table, with a red, fat padded chair on each side of it. She leaned forwards a little more against the railing. Her breath caught in her throat.

There was a bed there. And not one of those dirty blankets slaves were sometimes allowed, not even one of the legionaries' mattresses – this bed was _gigantic_. Its covers were brown, and red, and black, and it was so big she was afraid she could get lost if she jumped on it. Speaking of jumping… the height wasn't excessive. If it was as soft as it looked, she was sure the landing would've been fine. Besides, there was nobody looking.

She couldn't help but smile as she climbed up over the railings, her bare and sore feet relieved by the cold wood. She looked down to the bed. It wasn't hard to imagine this railing was as high as the tower on the top of the hill back at the Camp. If she squeezed her eyes just enough, she could see Lord Caesar's mean, big, stupid, shiny head right in the middle of the bed.

Maria aimed for that spot and jumped.

Mere seconds passed before she sank into the impossibly soft covers, then bounced back up and down until she lay spread-eagle on the bed. She remained there for a little time, giggling to herself and her brave stunt as she sank into the covers.

Fun left place to a certain degree of worry. Okay, the bed was way too comfortable, she had to crawl out of it – it almost felt like the mattress was trying to swallow her whole.

Once that unexpected nightmare had been taken care of, she breathed a little easier. She would never have imagined a bed could be _that_ soft. Now she eyed the chairs in front of her with mistrust. They looked just as padded and swollen as the covers. No way she was going to sit on any of those and disappear into whatever depths lay beyond.

"Maria!" Naeera's voice called. It was a welcome distraction from images of fat hairy monsters snatching her. Her short, gray-and-gold form appeared the doorway, leaning against it. "Oh, there you are." She pointed back to the room with Mr. Wolf and Ray. "Come on, Yes Man told us to get into the elevator. There's a whole 'presidential suite' for us, whatever that is."

Maria tried to find a meaning to the two words, but she'd never heard either of them. She instead went to Naeera and contented herself with following her. She couldn't even begin to imagine what could be in something like a 'presidential suite'. It sounded fancy, that was sure.

When they got back to the first room, Ray was nowhere to be seen - so it was safe to assume he was already in the elevator. Mr. Wolf, however, was sitting on Yes Man's old body (wreck, maybe?) and staring at the giant smiling face intently. He had a fist propped up against his wide jaw in thought.

"And so you are compelled answer any of your enquirer's requests…" Mr. Wolf hummed out. His silvery eyes sparkled with possibility. "Say, if I were to ask you about the history of this world's technological advancements…?"

"_Mr. House had a very large and unencrypted database dedicated to recording humanity's progress!_" Yes Man happily told him. "_I'd be glad to help you out with it!_"

Mr. Wolf's thin, scarred lips parted to show all of his teeth in a smile. He started rubbing his metal hand and his armored one together.

"Mr. Wolf?" Maria called, more than a little bit disappointed. Why wasn't he coming with them?

He turned around at once to meet her eyes. His grin softened from excitement to affection, and he waved her off. "Oh, do not worry for me, Maria. I shall follow you in due time." He gestured towards Yes Man. "I would like to gather some knowledge beforehand, it may always be of use."

She gave him an uncertain nod, which turned into a more convinced one. Sure, if Mr. Wolf wanted to do something, he had all the rights to do so. She didn't really understand why he'd want to ask Yes Man stuff about the past, but she guessed it was some grown-up thing. Didn't mean it wasn't a smart or wise decision for him.

Still, before she went away, she ran up to him, climbed over his impromptu seat, over his armour and planted a loud kiss on his cheek – just under the eye. In return, Mr. Wolf smacked her forehead with a mouth big enough to swallow her whole, sending her on her way back to Naeera with a pat on the back.

The diminutive figure stopped for a second to smile, then sighed out and took the little girl's hand. Maria glanced over her shoulder one last time before they climbed the stairs and entered the elevator, where Ray was waiting.

Something hissed.

Maria cocked her head curiously and looked around. It almost sounded like a snake, but she wasn't sure how one could have gotten here. Maybe they were the doors… no, the doors were still open. Naeera gave her a puzzled look when she stared at her, but no, it wasn't her gray friend. She set her eyes on Ray, who just then pressed one of the many buttons next to him.

The doors slid closed behind her, and the sound receded into silence.

Ray raised a brow. "What's the matter?"

Maria tried to find something wrong with him. No, he was just his usual self, if only confused. She was so sure the source of the sound had been close to him… she ultimately shook her head. She could've sworn there had been something. Maybe they really had been the doors all along. "Nothing. Thought I heard something."

* * *

The doors opened with a ding.

"_Welcome to the Presidential Suite!_" Yes Man announced with mirth. It almost sounded as though he wanted to physically welcome them.

Maria's jaw dropped shortly afterwards.

The layout of the hall was largely similar to the one she'd seen before, although here luxury was really showing. Granted, an old shack was pure opulence when compared to what she was used to, but just looking here she could tell this place was meant for people who couldn't have existed anymore.

A twin, smooth staircase with red-and-white steps and black wood railings lazily draped half of the room. The walls and carpets were a deep scarlet, here and there a black motif sewn on them. Downstairs, she saw dark crimson-padded chairs and benches, black wooden tables and short plants. The lights overhead were just right, not too bright, not too dark – in perfect harmony with the sun filtering through the giant glass windows. There, right in the middle of the room and at the center of attention, was a stone statue of a naked woman. What surprised Maria the most, however, was how she emptied her vase in a small pool of water around her… and the water kept on flowing.

She couldn't deny it looked good and it was impressive, but come to think of it, why would anyone just waste all that water on something so useless? She remembered her rations back at the Camp, and how bad she'd wished for another cup of that rank water after a long day of carrying heavy bags. How could a man think about using clean water as a decoration?

Unless people could drink from it, of course. Well, it certainly did look crystalline from up here…

"Fuck me!" Naeera exclaimed at her side. Her tone and expression couldn't be described as anything other than amazed; wide-eyed and slack-jawed, her lips curled into a broad smile. "I've got no idea what a president is, but _damn_, this place is a million times better than the Imperial Palace!"

Ray blinked a few times, then scratched at his spiked chin and grinned. He was the first to step outside, laughing as he turned around to take in every possible detail. "Man, I'm pretty sure the Emperor himself would have a hard time choosing between the Lucky 38 and the palace."

Maria couldn't make heads or tails of what they were saying. Maybe this 'Emperor' was a big guy back in… had they said their place was called Tamriel? Or was it Skyrim? Anyway, _there_. She gave little thought to it, however, as she finally took in the large doors at the end of each stairway. They were black as night, polished to a sheen and just an inch shorter than Mr. Wolf.

She hurried down the steps to see whatever lay behind those two doors, when she whirled around and saw there were _more_ under the curved stairs – a big, black door under each side of the elevator entrance. Indecision took hold of her for a moment, as she spun on her feet to look at the view outside. Hmm, left, right or back?

She went for the right.

The knob was a tinted a slightly lighter shade of darkness than the door itself, and it was at level height with her eyes. She wrapped her fingers around the cold, round shape and pulled.

Nothing happened.

Maria pulled harder, to no avail. So she pushed, and pushed, and pushed with as much force as she could muster – but to no avail. She tried to approach it from the sides, she tackled it, she turned around and ran back at it headlong. That only earned her a bruise on her elbow. How was she even supposed to open this thing? Maybe with a hard push on the knob, like… like a punch? Eh, couldn't hurt to try.

It did.

She regretted it instantly, shoving her aching hand in the folds of her tattered green dress.

Behind her, Naeera laughed out loud. She turned around with a face halfway between a pained grimace and an annoyed scowl, to which the golden-feathered lizard just shook her head. She approached her, ruffled her hair, and once she got to the door…

She turned the knob.

Maria just stared at her amused friend, then at the door. Okay, that was the exact opposite of intuitive. However, instead of getting mad at whoever invented such a stupid way to open a door, she simply nodded a thanks to Naeera and marched inside the corridor beyond.

The red theme here was a bit darker than before, closer to the hue of some of the old brick buildings, like the ones she'd seen in the ruins around Vegas yesterday. The carpets were just as soft as before, but she resisted the urge to drop on the ground and roll in them. For now. She noticed some doors on the sides; as for how many of them there were, well… she counted her whole right hand and her left thumb. It had to be six.

She approached the first one on the right. After a glare at the knob, she turned it. It didn't budge. Okay, this was getting ridiculous. How-

Oh, right, she had to turn it the other way around.

Sure enough, the door gave way and she pushed it open. It was heavier than she'd have imagined, but then again, it was as thick as Mr. Wolf's thumb. Understandable.

Her first glimpse of the room were enormous windows, separated in the middle by a gray steel line. The sunlight coming from them shone on a couple of thick, stuffed chairs in crimson and a large bed flanked by two wooden cubes with handles on the front. There really was no other way of describing the things. Maybe people put stuff in them.

On the wall opposite from the bed she saw a massive dark brown cupboard, similar to one she'd seen in the tent of a Legion officer once, only this one looked decent and wasn't covered in holes and scratches. Plus, it was easily taller than Ray. There were a few more pieces of furniture she'd never seen – like this round, white thing with a short, fat stripe and a longer, thinner one hanging from the wall. Another thing that caught her attention was what looked like tiny padded stools in front of the big chairs. She guessed kids could sit on those, what with the chairs being so huge.

She didn't dare touch anything. It had been foolish of her to just jump down on the bed before. Someone could have gotten mad at her – good thing nobody had. Now, with Ray and Naeera walking around, she didn't dare pull that stunt again or touch anything. Still, she allowed herself a push at the covers to test them out. It turned out they weren't as soft as the other ones. As a matter of fact, these were just… very comfortable. She pulled her hand away with a little regret.

The chairs, though? Oh, she didn't even try those. They looked even bigger and fatter than before, and she had the nasty little feeling she could risk being swallowed by them. So they were a no-no.

Beyond the bed was another black door, smaller than the entrance, and she went for it. Who knew what lay beyond?

White. Everything was white and smelled of water.

It was worse than the room they'd brought Keram-Rei in yesterday, when he'd been shot. White tiles on the floor, white tiles on the walls and ceiling, two chair-like white… _glass-things_ with huge holes near the walls, a shiny white tub, a mirror that showed white, and more white _everywhere_ on things she'd never seen before. One such thing was a T-shaped piece of shiny glass with two metal tubes on top, just beneath the mirror. The floor was positively cold and hard under her bare feet. Even with the lights on the roof out, the sunlight from outside was more than enough to reflect on everything.

Maria branded this as the worst room she'd yet seen in the Lucky 38. She closed the two doors, and went for the room opposite the one she'd just seen. When she noticed it was pretty much the same – save for the lack of windows – it wasn't hard to imagine the remaining… three? No, four. Anyway, she was pretty sure the others were the same, so she just ignored them and went out, back into the main hall.

It was empty now. The door a good… _many_ feet in front of her was ajar, while those two to her left and under the elevator were closed. She took a few steps forwards, beyond the statue of the nude lady, and caught snippets of a conversation between Naeera and Ray.

Right, her new friends might have been good and all, but if four years of beatings had taught her anything, interrupting a conversation between two adults was rude. Still, she wanted to see this room and what it had to offer… in the end, she settled for knocking on the door. At least he could warn them she was there.

No more than five seconds passed before Naeera opened the door, cocked her head to one side, and smiled broadly. "Hey, what's up?"

Maria leaned a little bit to one side in order to try and see something of the room beyond, only to find that a waving gray tail blocked her view. She looked up at Naeera, wriggling her fingers together. She was going to simply explain it, nice and easy. "You were talking and I wanted to come in, but it's rude, so-"

"So you knocked because you didn't want to interrupt?" Naeera finished for her. It took her an instant to grin adoringly, manage a pout with those lips and cock her head to one side, letting her feathers fall on her shoulder. "Oh, Maria, that's just so _cute_!"

Try as she might to convince herself otherwise, Naeera's sincere smiles worried Maria on some unconscious level. It always looked like she wanted to eat her, or cuddle her to death. In this instance, though, she just kissed her forehead and stepped aside to let her in.

Quite surprisingly, there wasn't a huge red carpet over the entire floor. It appeared to be a massive slab of white stone veined with black, smooth and icy at the touch. The ceiling was a dark color, somewhere between brown and red, dotted with lights at regular intervals – same hue as the walls. Or at least, the walls behind her and to her somewhat far left were. The rest was just a curve of glass, occasionally interrupted by vertical steel lines. Placed all around were plants of various sizes, ranging from small flowers to miniature trees.

As for the furniture, she saw an immense table of black wood that followed the bend of the windows, reaching from one end of the room to the other, decorated by a couple of plants and three branched rods of shiny yellow metal. All along it were black chairs with small, red padding on the seat and backrest. She wasn't going to be able to count them even if she used both her fingers and toes, she knew it.

In the only corner of the room was a squat, solid block of red bricks. Stone as white as the floor's covered its top, and on the adjacent walls she saw short drawers both on the ground or hanging from the walls, and black metal cupboards. These were interspersed with shorter furniture also made of some dark alloy, but whose purpose she couldn't even begin to guess at. Were they made of metal because… they had shiny things that went inside?

In the middle, between the table and the collection of drawers, she noticed a place not too different from the one Ray had utterly destroyed when fighting the robots. Only, this wasn't propped against a wall. It consisted of a long, oval structure of dark wood – mirrored to a lesser extent overhead. Other than that, she recognized the collection of funny-looking and colored bottles, the tiny steel pipes, and the stools all around.

"This place is great." Ray proudly announced from one such stool, with a twinkle in his eye. He almost looked at home here. It was plain to see in how comfortably he sat, how his lips creased into a small smile… maybe how relaxed his tail was, if Maria got that aspect of her friends right. "I mean, the table, the bar, the kitchen… more than I could've asked for." He chuckled. "I should've asked for a better color palette, maybe."

Well, Maria couldn't really argue with that. She had no idea what most things here were for, but she was starting to like it. Besides, it was a kitchen. They were going to eat here. Just the thought of having a defined place to eat, with actual, prepared food and not having to sit on the ground with snacks was more than enough to make her head spin a little. Not that she could rant about Ray's snacks, of course: used as she was to stale bread and rank water, that stuff was heavenly. Here in their new home, though, she suspected things were going to get even better.

Then, Naeera prowled up between her and Ray. She gave her a raised brow and a playful grin. "So, how do you like it here?"

"I love it!" Came Maria's instant reply. Her lips curled up into a broad beam at the thought of getting to live under a roof – and a very luxurious roof, to boot. "There's six rooms with soft beds, and huge chairs, and cupboards, and all of them have another room inside!" She expressed her disappointment with a pout. "But I didn't like that one. Everything was white and cold."

Naeera frowned a bit at that. "What kind of room is that?"

"I dunno." Maria shrugged earnestly. Maybe there was an actual purpose to their presence there and they weren't just a decoration. Who knew, maybe people waited there when it was too hot outside, or-

"That's a bathroom." Ray provided with a shrug, turning around on his stool to face them. "Here, it's a little different from the ones we had in Tamriel. Or, well, the ones they had in parts of Cyrodill and in the capitals of the other provinces."

While Naeera gave him a nod, Maria just stared at him in confusion. It wasn't just related to the names she didn't understand. "What's a bathroom?"

"Where people generally wash themselves, clean up or…" Ray began before pausing for a moment. He stared at the ceiling for a moment, chin held in his hand. In the end, though, he just sighed in surrender. "Pee and poo."

This time, Maria nodded and understood. Oh, so that was what a bathroom was for? Come to think of it, it sounded like a real nifty thing to have next to a bedroom or in a house in general. Used as she was to living in a pen and doing it on the ground… it was amazing, having a designated place to do everything and wash afterwards. Although, she had no real use for washing. The only time she had gotten cleaned in her entire life had been after Mr. Wolf's rescue. She'd lived up to that point and she was perfectly fine with it, so it wasn't like baths had great value for her. She had to admit though: however little that had lasted, feeling clean was a nice sensation.

Oh, speaking of clean.

"Hey, can I drink the water from the statue?" Maria finally voiced the question she'd been holding. She seriously hoped she'd get to find out how it tasted.

Naeera and Ray exchanged a perplexed glance; then the gray female laughed and shrugged. "Sure, go ahead. Tell me how it is."

Maria answered with a smile and a thankful little bow. After that, she hurried out of the door and to the pool at the statue's feet. She looked up at the lady for a momen. The sculpted figure was entirely naked, save for the vase she held in her hands. Her face was draped in long hair, and looked austere, but kind. Who was she? Someone who lived here?

Thirst and curiosity won over the question. The little girl dismissed the thought as she cupped her hands, plunged them in the pleasantly cold water and brought it to her mouth.

It was clean, drinkable and refreshing, but the fact it was so cold probably added a special something to it. It tasted and smelled like… well, water - but it was so pure and perfect, she was afraid she wasn't going to like any other kind of water afterwards. This pool was just _right_. It had no hairs or dead insects floating in it, it wasn't rank, it wasn't limited to a total of three cups a day.

* * *

Maria spent some time in rapture before hearing a ding, soon to be accompanied by something Yes Man said. She raised her head and saw Becky, V and Eagle come out of the elevator and lean against the railings. The first two were trying to hide a grin and failing, the third looked torn between impressed and annoyed.

"Hey, you're back." Naeera called as she came out of the kitchen, followed by Ray. "How was the demonstration?"

"Illuminating." Eagle snorted aloud, glaring openly at Naeera for a second. Then she held onto the railing and slowly walked down the steps on Maria's right, using her free hand to balance herself with her staff.

"Fucking awesome!" Becky whooped. She sat on the railing to the little girl's left, smoothly slid down and jumped at the end. She spread her arms and beamed. "We've got a whole army of Securitrons!"

"Best thing is, they're all upgraded _and_ on our side." V added, copying Becky's slide and her smile. "Auto-repair systems, grenade launcher and missile pods were already built into every Securitron. Now that those are unlocked, they can use the new toys and kick ass for us."

Maria understood _nothing_ of what they were talking about. She figured the Securitrons were the robots with the wheel, but the rest? What was a 'systems'? Or a 'missile'? Grenades… maybe she knew what those were. Becky had thrown some and nearly deafened them all downstairs.

What she knew, though, was that she was going to try sliding down the railings later.

"What?!" Ray all but choked on the words. Maria turned her head to see him scowl at both Becky and V, his teeth showing behind his lips. "Are you seriously going to get help from _robots_? After all the shit House put us through?"

"For the love of the Divines, Keram-Rei, can you not _think_?" Eagle retorted viciously as soon as she finished descending the stairs. She returned his look with a stare that could have frozen the whole desert. "Does your attention span rival that of a histcarp, or did you just forget it was House controlling those machines? Now they are in _our_ control." She growled out at him. "You were even happy about having Yes Man help us!"

Maria saw V and Becky disengage from the exchange, look around, and nod towards the doors underneath the staircase.

"I thought it had a plan, not that it was going to take over!" Ray barked back after a few seconds. His feathers had risen, and now he had bared his fangs. "Who knows, maybe it's going to go insane! What happens if somebody takes control of it while we're not looking? It's a robot, for fuck's sake!"

"_I'm actually an artificial intelligence, not a robot!_" Yes Man's voice chirped in from somewhere in the room. "_And I am programmed to obey orders given to me by-_"

"Shut up!" Ray and Eagle shouted in unison.

"_Okay!_" Yes Man gladly answered.

Maria now had something to think about. Why had Naeera said Ray and Eagle like each other, if they kept on fighting? Both of them now stepped up their warlike appearance. Both had their eyes narrowed, their lips peeled back to show their sharp teeth, their eyes narrowed into each other's, their feathers bristling. She could have sworn she'd heard Eagle hiss.

"Hey guys!" Becky called, audibly enthusiastic. When the two's murderous glares, Naeera's amused glance and Maria's curious look met her, she smiled and jerked a thumb back at the door she'd opened.

V appeared in the doorway, waving. "There's a swimming pool here!"

Every sign of hostility evaporated from Ray and Eagle, same for Naeera's impish grin. Instead, their heads snapped towards the girls at once. Ray and Naeera slowly moved their tail from one side to the other. All of them, however, smiled broadly.

Naeera pushed Ray and Eagle away from each other, then walked past and whirled around to shrug at them. "You know what? I'm sure you two can argue all you want _after_ a swim."

Eagle and Ray exchanged an eager look. They both nodded.

Maria, her curiosity piqued by the presence of this 'swimming pool', couldn't help but follow the others into the new room. The name was pretty explanatory, but she wasn't too sure of how one might look like. From her position behind them, she noticed how all three of the Argonians were barely resisting their urge to run. Okay, they were in the desert and water was always welcome, but was swimming such a big deal for them?

She entered the hall in tow, and… well, maybe she could understand that.

She couldn't be certain, but she suspected this giant room was as big as the bedrooms, kitchen and entrance together. The walls to the edge of the hall consisted entirely of double curved windows up to the ceiling; the single, long wall behind her was covered in slabs of bloodred stone veined with black and white lines like lightning – just like the ground there was. The roof was as high as the entrance hall's, black as night, and marked by two rows of lights.

For the most part, though, the dark red stone of the floor gave way to an enormous swimming pool. Water glistened and sparkled under the combined sunlight and overhead lights, almost perfectly still in the immense, crescent-shaped pool. Maria reached up to the lip of the pool, past her dumbstruck non-human friends, and saw that every small, chiseled tile covering it was completely black.

Ray let out a joyful hoot and plunged into the swimming pool, still wearing his armor and all. Maria stood still for a shocked moment, as it appeared every single droplet of that splash had hit her. Her hair and dress stuck to her gracile form, and she gasped for air at the sudden burst of cold.

An indignant cry was all the warning she had before Eagle fell face-first into the water – soaking what little part of her being had been spared by Ray's jump.

Then, sauntering towards the pool, came Naeera. Instead of her regular attire, she wore nothing but her scales and feathers, much to Becky and V's dismay; and in minor part to her own. She rotated her shoulders, held her arms up high, and gracefully dove next to her two companions.

Maria stared at them swimming underneath the crystalline surface. Ray's movements were fast and energetic, as opposed to Eagle's clumsy attempts at reaching the edge of the pool to drag herself outside. Naeera, on the other hand, reminded her more and more of a snake with her sensuous, slithering motions. Those provided with it, she noticed, made wide use of their tails to propel themselves through the water. They made it look easy.

Well… maybe it was, right? If someone as awkward and ungainly as Eagle still managed to keep afloat, how hard could it be for a nimble little girl like her? Yeah, that was perfectly doable. So she took a couple of steps back for her run-up, drew in a deep breath, and pounced forwards.

For an instant, the feeling of touching the water and being immersed in it overtook her with joy. It felt as though she were suspended in thick, wet air, between the roof and the floor. She saw Ray, and Eagle, and Naeera, and so she tried to reach them while holding her breath.

Then came the fear.

She had no idea how to move in there. She didn't float as she thought she would. Maria waggled her arms and legs, thrashed around in a desperate attempt, but she didn't get up. She tried to call for help, but water filled her mouth as soon as she made the attempt.

Her heart hammered in her chest. Her lungs felt like collapsing, she needed air. She couldn't breathe water! No, there had to be a way for her to get out… she tried to scream, but only bubbles and muffled voice came out.

Something grabbed her.

She wanted to fight against whatever got hold of her, but she was starting to lose her strengths; her struggles did nothing to get those fingers away…

Wait, fingers?

Maria's head broke the surface. Everything else lost importance as she tried to take in as much air as she possibly could. Her lungs burned with the effort, her chest inflated and deflated in panic, and someone was taking her back to the edge of the pool. Two hands took hold of each of her arms and dragged her out of the water. Becky and V's faces looked down at her in concern.

She sat up, shaking, and looked back at the lip of the pool. A pair of annoyed red eyes rose above water and looked back at her, beneath smooth, dark red brows set in a worried scowl. "Maria, for the love of Akatosh, what in Oblivion were you thinking?"


	23. A Night in Vegas

Keram-Rei took off the earmuffs from his hearing canals with a satisfied smirk. Firstly, because he still couldn't believe he now had a gun. Secondly, because practice with said gun had actually carried results: his aim had definitely improved over the course of a week (even though his aching arms hadn't). Not that it had an excessive importance for a shotgun, but at least now he was fairly sure he could kill something no farther than fifty feet. Which wasn't as much as he would've liked, alright – but it was better than hitting the ceiling over the target. The shredded cardboard outline at the opposite end of the brightly-lit room confirmed his improvements.

He deposited the earmuffs on the steel table in front of him, then placed his weapon next to a metal box of 12 gauge ammunition. The shotgun was pretty short – a couple of inches under two feet – and entirely steel gray, save for the grip and the… the, uhm…

_I'm pretty sure the mongrel called it the 'fore end', or 'forestock'._

_Got that._ He thought back. Right, the grip and _forestock_ were matte black. To both were attached the ends of an olive green strap. He liked it. It was almost perfect for him. True, reloading it shell by shell during combat was a pain in the ass, and he had to choose between it or his sword, _and _he wanted to get an assault rifle because there was nothing cooler than blazing away on full auto; but it had its advantages. There was no need of being within arm's reach of an enemy or channeling his will through it, for example. He lifted it without much thought for accuracy, pulled the trigger, and there was a fairly high chance his attacker found him or herself short of a limb, a few feet of intestines, or a head.

The gun was an 'Ithaca 37 Stakeout', standing to what Eyes-Of-Silver had said. Akatosh alone knew how the giant had recognized the model or its components. Well, the werewolf had spent hours every day speaking with Yes Man. Maybe he'd learned something from that AI?

_At least the dog has enough sense to learn. Maybe you could actually listen to what I say every once in a while. I'm ancient, you know? I might be _useful_ if you stopped being a whiny fuck._

Keram-Rei cracked his knuckles to dispel the thoughts and focus on the present. He rubbed at his left arm, then at his right shoulder. His shotgun, small as it was, still kicked like a mule. The ache was nothing like it had been a week ago, yet it was annoying enough to remind him of his first days as a swordsman. Curse him when he'd thought shooting a gun wouldn't be much different from shooting a crossbow.

So he picked up his weapon again, strapped it over his shoulder, and set off towards the elevator behind him. The firing range covered one of the several underground levels of the Lucky 38; although, unlike the others – mostly prop storages, control rooms and three or four levels they still hadn't explored – this was fairly close to the surface. Judging by the signs and warnings lying about, not to mention the ridiculous amount of earmuffs and small caliber pistols with relative ammo, it wasn't hard to imagine this place had been intended to be open to the public.

He strolled inside the open elevator, and was greeted by his own reflection. Today he'd decided to wear a long, ultramarine linen tunic that fell down to just under his hips, complete with a pair of loose blue pants and leather sandals, brown like the belt at his waistline. Pretty comfortable, all things considered. He would've preferred to wear something bright like his feathers, but green and red were a little bit too flashy together. Deep blue was fine. Good thing he had let that vendor from Hammerfell convince him into buying the garments. These clothes were a blessing now that he was stuck in a hot climate. The Mojave wasn't much different from the Alik'r desert, or the state of Anequina in Elsweyr.

Well, okay, the Mojave sucked a great deal more. Still, he had to live with what he got, right?

The Pip-Boy worn over his left forearm was, by contrast, a huge eyesore. Dark gray and glowing green, and possibly uglier with each day that passed. He pressed the button to the presidential suite almost automatically. As the elevator doors closed, he reminded himself that no matter what, he still had some leverage on Treads-In-Gloom by wearing it at all times.

_And you're a little bitch with a small dick, but that's besides the point._

Keram-Rei felt his fists balling and his jaw clenching on instinct. He let out a sonorous snort, then shook his head vigorously. Those were just the angry retorts of a trapped, evil soul who had a blast annoying him because he had nothing else to do for the rest of eternity. There was no need to listen to a deceiver's provocations.

_Yeah, you keep telling yourself that. After all, your precious tailless bitch has never seen one, she's just going to think yours is good…_

He knew better than to reply. Some days, Treads-In-Gloom managed to be tolerable. Others (like today), he couldn't help but be an insufferable bastard. Besides, no matter what that twisted parasite said or thought, there was nothing wrong about… _it_. He frowned stubbornly. It worked just fine. _And if you mention my penis one more time, it's back in the Pip-Boy. So shut up already._

* * *

"_Welcome to the Presidential Suite, Mr. Keram-Rei!_" Yes Man happily informed him as the doors slid open with an equally cheerful ding.

Keram-Rei grunted an affirmation as he strolled out into the broad, vermilion entrance hall. After last week's experiences, he couldn't bring himself to trust anything robotic – _especially_ the perky little program ingrained into the Lucky 38; the very same thing that had control over every Securitron on the Strip and the tower's systems. Sure, it was useful… what if things went bad, though? What if Phoenix gave it the wrong command? What if anyone else said something that triggered a secret part of its code?

_I stand corrected: you're a _paranoid_ little bitch._

By the time he'd reached the bottom of the staircase, his mood had worsened considerably. He looked outside to try and admire the beauty of sunset… but no such luck to be had, he'd missed it. There was only the faintest orange line to the West, while the stars above already shone and glistened. The Earth's only moon was hidden by a cloud. Great.

He let out a sigh, turning the doorknob to the private rooms and entering the crimson hallway. He loved red, but this was too much. Why in Oblivion did House have to cover everything in different shades of _red_? Dear Gods, the place had to have the worst interiors he'd ever seen. Even the nobility in Cyrodiil had better tastes.

Keram-Rei opened the second door on the left. He was greeted by a moderately messy bedroom, with part of the covers on the ground and the mattress slightly out of place on the foundation. The wardrobe was ajar, the bedside tables were closed, and the sofa was covered in a series of old garments, same as the easy-chair and the footrests (and parts of the carpeting).

The desk was devoid of anything except for the sacred spots reserved for his sword and shotgun. He closed the door behind his back, flicked the light switch on and placed the Stakeout next to the Dragonbone blade. After that, he ritually patted the right pauldron of his Stalhrim armor. Good thing one of the lower levels had been filled with white mannequins, or else he would've had to find another place to set his armor on. It looked weird on a human, to be honest – especially the hole on the ass where the tail should have been – but it was better than nothing.

He wasn't tired, but the very moment he jumped on the bed he began to feel so. Damn, how had anyone managed to make a mattress and covers that soft, anyway? He was careful not to lay on his tail or horns to avoid damaging it the fabric or spraining his tail, and rested sideways. All in all, he wasn't really tired. More like bored.

It had been a week of absolute _nothing_.

Now, some rest was a godsend after all the shit they'd been through, but he had expected to actually _do_ something while he was there at the Lucky 38. Instead, it was always the same story – none of them had been out on the Strip ever since House's trap. So he cooked and had target practice. Screaming-Eagle vanished in the underground levels to continue with her research, sometimes crawling outside to eat and grumble in disappointment. Eyes-Of-Silver spent whole days talking with Yes Man about technology without food, occasionally disappeared at night, and trained restlessly. Naeera either braided Maria's hair, dressed her and taught her how to swim, or remained in her rooms to sleep all day.

Well, hadn't it been for the lack of keyholes, he was sure she didn't just _sleep_ – and he could have enjoyed the show. His resentment towards House grew a little more at the thought.

_Heh, with all the things she's learned, who knows what she does to have some fun…_

Aside from that, there was nothing else particularly remarkable. Veronica and Phoenix spent most of the time talking to themselves, or on the cinema level watching movies. How Pre-War people had found that romantic trash enjoyable was beyond him. War stories had to be a million times better, but no, the two of them didn't want to watch those. Not even detective movies, for that matter. Go figure.

Oh, well, at least there was music. Now _that_ was interesting. A shame he hadn't played it before on the journey, but none of them had had the time nor the mind to listen to music; what with raiders, the Legion or the NCR not giving them a moment of rest.

He brought the Pip-Boy to eye level, toyed a little with the knobs and buttons, and finally entered the 'Stored Data' display. With the pressure of another button, he got into the 'Music' panel. Now, where was one of his favorites… ah, there!

_Oh, by Sheogorath's eight pinky fingers, not again…_

A catchy, soothing tune drifted out of the speakers on his Pip-Boy. It was different from the kind of music the local radios transmitted. This felt more… he didn't know, _alive_. It wasn't something one could just listen to. It actually made him feel like dancing, move in some way, even though he hadn't the faintest idea how. He _loved_ it.

_Well, you can tell by the way I use my walk  
I'm a woman's man, no time to talk.  
The music loud, and women warm,  
I've been kicked around since I was born…_

"_And now it's all right, it's okay, and you may look the other way!_" Keram-Rei sang along, jumping to his feet, eyes closed in focus. His voice was never going to be as high-pitched as the singer's, and he couldn't care less. "_And we can try to understand the New York Times effect on man!_"

"Didn't know you were a singer!"

Keram-Rei let out a startled cry and almost fell to the ground. His instincts kicked in. He rolled for the desk to take hold of his shotgun, but misjudged the distance and banged his head on the corner with a loud thump. The impact was followed by a spike of pain. He held a hand against his forehead, and glared up.

Naeera looked down into his eyes with a nonplussed stare. She managed that expression for a moment or two before she burst into laughter. Another set of rasping, ethereal giggles broke inside of his mind.

Keram-Rei sighed out loud; half in relief, half in resignation. He climbed up to his feet, dusted his tunic, and cast a minor Restoration spell to get rid of the pain. He killed 'Stayin' Alive', then drew in a deep breath in order to better scowl at the laughing thief standing by the open wardrobe. "Naeera, what the fuck were you thinking?"

_Probably trying to get you to stop singing. Thank Dagon for her help._

Naeera let out the final hiccups of a chuckle, signal she was almost done, and flicked her long feathers out of her eyes. She was wearing her Nightingale armor, oddly enough. Not that it was a bad thing, oh no. She wore it like a second skin, just a shade darker than her gray scales, tight against her chest, thighs and-

She snapped her fingers with an impish little grin. He shook his head, and looked back at her face. "My eyes are down here, Keram-Rei." She folded her arms under her breasts – was she doing it on purpose? Well… he didn't really mind, to be honest. "It's been a week. Don't you think our dear Screaming-Eagle should be done with her research by now? I'm getting bored here."

Keram-Rei managed to ignore the signals his lower body sent him, and waved her off. "Oh, please, we're talking about magic. It would take me-"

"That's right, _you_." Naeera retorted, poking him in the middle of his chest. "But Screaming-Eagle, as much as I hate to say it, is a great fucking mage. I'm sure she's finished it by now." She flashed him an innocent little smile. "Besides, you're a battlemage, you know magic. You could ask her what she's found out."

"I could, and– hold on a minute…" Keram-Rei muttered as he narrowed his eyes on her. He could understand her not wanting to talk to Screaming-Eagle, but Eyes-Of-Silver was just as good to ask the mage how her research proceeded, same as Phoenix or Veronica. Unless…

_Oh, you got it._

Oh. Oh, by Oblivion, no.

He felt boyish embarrassment take over him. He scratched at his feathers, desperately trying not to look at Naeera's self-satisfied smirk. He hoped he could force his heart to beat slower with the sole strength of his thoughts. He forced the words out of his mouth. After a couple of attempts, grunts and whimpers, he did it. "Oh, no. W-well, I don't… know. I mean, if… she mentioned… she said a week, so-"

"A week's passed, now you go talk to her." Naeera mercilessly and amusedly interrupted him. She nudged him in the stomach, clacking her tongue and winking. "And maybe not only about magic, huh?"

Keram-Rei shyly shook his head. He couldn't bring himself to talk any further, not if he wanted to avoid stuttering. Screaming-Eagle was as beautiful as dawn itself, and smarter than the whole College of Winterhold put together, and he liked it when she called him an idiot… but how in Oblivion he was going to start a conversation was beyond him. With _her_, of all people. "I… I can't."

Naeera rolled her eyes with an exasperated snort. She then grabbed a midnight blue cloak, draped it over his shoulders, and pushed him out of the room against his feeble protests. "Come on, it's going to be _fine_, don't be such a baby." She twirled him around, patting his feathers to somehow improve his looks or something. She took a couple of steps back, cocked her head to one side. She ultimately smiled. "You look good, you know that?"

Oh, thank the Gods he wasn't a Man or an Elf and he couldn't blush – and _damn_, wasn't that tiny female strong. "But… w-what… I… I-I don't know if-"

"Calm down, it's not like she's Alduin or anything!" Naeera cut him off in encouragement. She gave him a playful punch on the arm and a reassuring little smile. "You go there, ask how the research has been going, and try to start a conversation. Be yourself." She looked up at the ceiling, rubbing at her chin. She nodded and hummed to herself, then stared back into his eyes. "You know what? Ask her if she'd like to hang out, have a walk around the Strip. Talk there."

"Naeera!" Keram-Rei all but hissed, as though Screaming-Eagle herself could hear him. "I… how am I even going to… to…"

Naeera took his head in her hands to look intently into his eyes. Those golden orbs fixed into his, she didn't blink, didn't glance away – just forced him to look at her. "Keram-Rei, _focus_." She shook his head back and forth for added emphasis. "Do you remember what you told me yesterday? What did you say about her?"

"That…" Keram-Rei croaked like a tiny toad that had been stepped on. He closed his eyes, drew in a deep breath, cleared his throat. Alright, he had to focus. "That her eyes shine and burn like the setting sun, and that her laughter's more melodious than a thousand nightingales'." He faltered a little. He unconsciously smiled. "And… and that I love it when I can make her laugh, and when those red eyes sparkle with glee because of me… I feel accomplished. Happy."

His smile spread to Naeera. She let go of him, and set a hand on his shoulder. "Trust me when I say that's the cutest thing you could say to anyone, Keram-Rei." Her hand dropped. "Now go out there and show her what you've got."

Keram-Rei felt his confidence return. He slowly nodded with growing conviction, straightened up, and adjusted his tunic. "I'll never know if I don't try, right?"

"That's right!" Naeera exclaimed as she crushed his ribs in an unexpected hug. She pinned his arms down like a vise and, just when he thought he couldn't breathe anymore, she freed him. "Come on, what are you waiting for?" She shoved him away, giggling. "Go!"

Keram-Rei marched out of his room and into the hall with renewed purpose. He thanked the thief with a silent nod – hadn't it been for her, he would still be too closed to even think about speaking with Screaming-Eagle – and set off towards the elevator, past the statue and the stairs and the awful red hall. _I'm going to tell her._ He told himself, pressing the button for the fifth underground floor. _I'm going to tell her, and she's going to say yes. I can do it, I can do it, I can do it…_

The doors slid closed. Silence fell, save for the whir of the elevator.

He pictured Screaming-Eagle in front of him, leaning on her staff for support, her brow raised in mildly annoyed curiosity as she waited for an answer. He imagined her in a long silk gown, white as snow and decorated by silvery threads. She smiled ever-so-slightly, giggling.

"Oh fuck, I can't do it." Keram-Rei wheezed, slumping against the elevator's walls in a sudden rush of panic. There was no way he was going to be able to speak under the scrutiny of those beautiful eyes, next to her perfectly calm form. Everything could go wrong. "I can't, just can't…"

Suddenly, a hope flared in his chest. _Hey, Treads-In-Gloom?_

_Oh no, you don't want to listen to my advice, since I'm evil and I could corrupt your soul. So I'm going to shut up, like you told me. Bye bye._

Keram-Rei felt like crying like a newborn baby, or killing someone with his bare hands. _I hate you._

_Trust me, it's mutual._

* * *

His heart was hammering in his chest by the time the doors opened into the-

"_Underground storage level 03, repurposed into Ms. Screaming-Eagle's arcane laboratory!_" Yes Man informed him with an happiness that made him want to kill the accursed AI. Divines, he wanted to punch its coded face so hard all its teeth fell off, then he wanted to make it swallow them. That would have been a relief. "_Although, be advised: I have good reason to believe she isn't happy._"

Keram-Rei took an uncertain step outside, ready to jump in again and frantically jab his fingers at the console until he was back into the presidential suite. Yes Man's statement didn't help. He found himself staring down into a gloomy corridor, pitch black if not for the interspaced neon stripes hanging from the concrete ceiling. It was cold here. Not quite to Skyrim's levels, but he was positive there were warmer places in High Rock.

The lights buzzed overhead. Something hummed in the distance. Probably generators of some sort on the lower level. If he focused entirely on his feet, he could feel the vibrations spreading through the ground. The air was musty, stale, and it smelled of old and dust. Since Screaming-Eagle lived here, he could feel the faint traces of Magicka lingering all around. Every once in a while, there was a loud metal bang reverberating down the hallway.

He ignored the doors to either side of him. Instead, he stalked down the corridor with a wild mix of embarrassment, fear and hope in his breast. His footsteps echoed with hollow thuds on the walls. He could hear his own breath and heartbeat.

A woman screamed.

Keram-Rei answered with a measly whimper, bringing his strides to a stop. It had come from further down the corridor. He shouldn't have followed Naeera's advice, he should have just waited for Screaming-Eagle to come to them and tell the party what was going on… his head snapped around for fear of something wanting to pounce on him. He swallowed, and powered on through the darkness and his emotions.

The acrid smell of smoke now reached his nostrils. Either something had gone wrong, or Screaming-Eagle had burned something down. Another shriek cut through the silence of the underground storage. Yes, he had no doubt about it – it was her. 'Not happy' had to be the understatement of the Era.

Strangely, he was starting to feel more comfortable. He wasn't trying to speak to his crush anymore. This was a dark dungeon after all, chambers buried underground for centuries and only now open to living souls. He had to reach its end to find the treasure, his target. All at once, this wasn't so bad anymore. The thought of having to survive the ordeal was much more appealing than stuttering in embarrassment. Stupidly so, but more appealing nonetheless. More familiar, and infinitely easier than talking to a smiling, calm female.

The corridor snaked to the right and back left again twice. He followed the twists and turns that came after those, ignoring the ajar rusty doors or the screams of rage growing closer. He clawed his fingers, ready to cast a fireball.

Not that he was ever going to use it against Screaming-Eagle (or she was going to even acknowledge one of his spells as dangerous), but it helped him get in the right mood and calm down – a fire bolt was something in which he could direct his nervousness. He had to be ready for anything. No matter that a mage like her could blast him away into a pile of smoldering ashes with a glare, he could never be too sure.

Besides, why was she so angry in the first place? Screaming-Eagle was truly living up to her name now. The closer he got, the more he heard the note of ire in her voice. Maybe… maybe it wasn't such a good idea, going in her very own lab while she could have slaughtered an army. Not as bad as trying to start a conversation with her, but he was still risking his life down there. Was it really worth it?

Oh, who was he kidding, she had a strange beauty to her when she was furious. _That_ was worth it.

Now that, mixed with the feeling of being in another Dwarven ruin and the excitement of something finally happening after the dull week he'd had, lent him the strength and willpower to approach the entrance to Screaming-Eagle's laboratory. The stench of fire and Magicka cast in wrath was strong here, and the howls threatened to make him go as deaf as Eyes-Of-Silver firing a minigun.

Keram-Rei braced himself. He squared his shoulders, set his jaw, and opened the door.

Well, he had to say, the room might have once been tidy. He could picture a long desk, a workbench, a few rows of shelves and tables, and arcane instruments lying all about.

He identified the wooden desk as the dying embers on his right. Half of the shelves had been slammed against the cracked concrete walls, smashed flat like tinfoil; the other half was nothing more than indistinct puddles of glowing molten metal, steaming in the darkness of the room and spreading their dull orange light. Small shapes had been flattened against the ground, jammed into the ceiling, or burned to cinders. The workbench had to be the bent mass of metal lodged next to the entrance. It was hot as a furnace in there.

In the middle of it all stood Screaming-Eagle.

She held her staff in an iron grip as she let out one last shriek of rage at the heavens. The orange-red light showed she was wearing a simple, sleeveless silk gown as black as night, with matching boots. Her scales reminded him of molten rock, and her eyes burned brighter than the Red Mountain's heart. She had her fangs bared in fury, her feathers bristled. A growl bubbled in her chest and throat.

Okay, so far as he was concerned, seeing her like that was worth even his own life.

Keram-Rei took a step inside, and she snapped her head towards him. She hissed at him like a cobra.

Okay, bad idea, _terrible_ idea. He had seen Revered Dragons happier than her. There was only one word that could describe her: _lethal_. If he turned and ran, there was a good chance she would crush him into an unpleasant smudge on the ground. If he tried to start a conversation now, he was fairly sure she could squash him like that power-armored guard back in Vault 24.

Although every part of him told him to break down, cry and suck his thumb until the mage in front of him felt bad and let him go, he didn't do that. Instead, he blinked in astonishment. "What's wrong?"

"WHAT'S _WRONG_?!" Screaming-Eagle screeched like a pissed off Daedra. She stormed up to him, ready to cave his skull in with her staff, and glared into his eyes with those two beautiful windows on hell itself. "WE'RE FOREVER STUCK ON THIS DEAD WORLD,_ THAT'S_ WHAT'S WRONG!"

He didn't really figure what she said, taken as he was by her enticing rage. When he did, though, the first thing that hit him about the words was the volume itself. When she wanted to, she could really put a Wisp Mother Banshee to shame. The second thing, however, were the words themselves.

'Stuck'.

_Oh, fuck, no!_

"… Stuck?" Keram-Rei managed to repeat. What did she mean with stuck? She… she didn't mean they had no way to come back, did she? R-right?

Screaming-Eagle howled to vent her frustration and banged her staff against the concrete an inch from his toes. "_STUCK!_" She screamed at him. "THAT HARLOT OF AN OVERSEER HAD NO IDEA HOW WE CAME HERE! THE TRUE PURPOSE OF VAULT 24 IS _NOTHING_!" She dropped her staff to the ground, gripping at her horns and glaring down at the floor. "It had just been built to see how the inhabitants would react to a non-existent secret! We weren't even supposed to be there, they mobilized such a force because they weren't expecting us! That... that woman was _improvising_!"

_No, no, no…_

Keram-Rei felt the weight of her words crush him, heavier than any pressure she may have conjured to kill him. There… was no meaning to their presence. They shouldn't have been there, they had no… no way of coming back home. The realization froze him on the spot, no matter the heat in there. "So… we have no way of going back?" He felt his throat tighten against him. A lump blocked his next sentence. "We are… here, forever?"

Screaming-Eagle didn't reply immediately. She breathed heavily, either from the effort or from the anger, and bent to pick her staff up again. Then, unexpectedly, she pressed her head flat against his shoulder like a frustrated, defeated ram. "Yes…"

Keram-Rei didn't know what to say. That was… bad. Worse than anything he could have possibly imagined. Stuck here, in the Mojave… Gods, it was outright awful.

The optimistic part of him that still hadn't died reminded him this wasn't as bad as Vvardenfell, or Apocrypha, or the Deadlands. Things might have gone much worse. They may have ended in Akavir, in the lands of the Kamal or the Tsaesci, of which there were only terrible rumors in Tamriel. They had a house here - fuck, it was a whole tower with dozens and dozens of rooms, halls, and a whole giant suite all to themselves. They had a few friends in there, like Phoenix and Veronica, and Maria. They had even earned the sympathy of the New California Republic.

_Or we may have ended in Valenwood, or Summerset Isle, or Black Marsh - and we both know how many idiots you knew there, you goddamn retard! For fuck's sake, Keram-Rei, this is one of the worst places we could find ourselves in!_

Instead of all that, though, he managed only a sigh and three words. "Well, this sucks."

_NO FUCKING SHIT, KERAM-REI! GO FUCK YOURSELF!_

Something happened then, something that defied every natural law he had ever heard of.

Screaming-Eagle chuckled.

It could have been a sob, or a sigh (or both), but she had turned it into an amused little sound. He didn't know if he was more surprised by the fact he'd made her laugh when moments before she would've been capable of killing him, or by the thought that things were going in the right direction in the middle of a dark, destroyed, overheated underground room.

She pulled her head back to look at him. He saw a tiny, glistening trail starting from her right eye and ending on her jaw – yet she smiled. It was small, but it was there. Her small, white teeth showed, if barely. "Yes." She whispered. Her voice was nothing more than a shivering little breath. "Yes, this sucks."

Keram-Rei was, quite simply, stunned. By the Divines, even after all of that she was… _smiling_. She had agreed with him on something. She was moments away from crying her eyes out, too, if the exhaustion that came after her berserk phase was even half as strong as her fury. Come to think of it, he'd never seen her cry when she was lucid. She'd never cracked under all the stress the Gods seemed to throw at them – except for the overwhelming Overseer's memories in Vault 24. That time it had been caused by the shock of learning new truths in seconds, though.

Screaming-Eagle looked amazing when she was so frail, so nervous. He just wanted to stand by her and tell her everything was going to be okay, wrap his arms around her, kiss her. Her smile faltered, her lower lip quivered. He saw her eyes fill up with tears the instant before she turned away from him. She sniffled, planted her staff on the concrete floor, and sighed. "Divines, I hate this all so much…"

"Well, look at the bright side." Keram-Rei began. Holding her close to comfort her, appealing as it may have been, was tantamount to suicide. So he folded his arms across his chest, wore his dumbest, broadest grin, and diverted all of his efforts and focus on trying to make her be happy again. Well, in her case, it might have been more correct to say 'less grumpy'. "You could've been stuck here alone."

Screaming-Eagle made a small sound halfway between a sniffle and a snort. She ultimately settled for facing him again, her brow raised. She was about to say something, question the meaning of his statement as always, but she abruptly looked down at her feet and started toying with the crystals on her staff. "I suppose that is true…"

Was she embarrassed? It definitely looked so. She reminded him of himself, but with less talking like an idiot or trying to change matters, and more cuteness. Instead she just stood there, busying herself with the first thing that could come to her mind, as she bit her lip and…

Smiled.

That single expression gave him so much strength that Keram-Rei momentarily forgot about all of his fear and uncertainty. It was like Naeera had said: he just had to be himself. Talk, like he usually did. Especially grin right from ear canal to ear canal like an idiot. He cleared his throat, made a show of looking around to get her attention. "Well, this doesn't look like the best place to chat, right?" He coughed – this time, it was genuine. "What with the fumes and all."

She still didn't look up into his eyes – and he was thankful for that, or else he would've stopped and gotten lost into hers. She did chuckle once, however. "No, it isn't…"

More awkwardly than he could've been able to if he'd tried, he made a slight bow and pointed at the exit. The white-bluish light was much brighter than what remained of her scorched laboratory. "I was thinking about… I don't know, having a walk… outside." He flashed her a lopsided grin to mask his indecision. "You know… the Strip."

Any other moment, he was sure Screaming-Eagle would've politely and elegantly told him to fuck off for just having thought about walking down the Strip, a den of sin and vice and other bad stuff he couldn't be bothered to remember nor care about. Maybe punch him or hit him with her staff for good measure, just so that he never asked her again.

Now that her usual self had disappeared, though, she actually looked undecided about it. She bit her lip a bit more and stared at her boots before she raised her eyes to finally meet his. She looked like a little girl that way, head slightly tilted and smile almost showing. "Well…" She drew in a deep breath, straightening up. "Why not?"

That was the single best thing he could have hoped for tonight. Well, maybe not the _best_ best, but it was the best plausible one.

_Yeah, sure, let's just conveniently forget the part where we're stuck in the middle of a fucking radioactive desert forever. Having a date with a tailless is more important, go ahead, you retard._

Keram-Rei ushered her outside, taking place at her side as they walked down the snaking corridor. He never dared to touch her, or get too close. He contented himself with watching her walk at his side, lean against her staff for support, stare anywhere but at him. Her scales looked as smooth as the silk she wore, there was no doubt about that. Her feathers… well, her feathers simply had to _be_ silk; her horns reminded him of the purest ivory.

He hadn't said that much, now that he thought about it. Still, it had been enough to make her calm down and allow her to come with him. All of his negative feelings lost importance to him: fear, doubt, uncertainty were just a memory now. His mind could only register happiness, confidence, and pride. He'd done it, he'd finally grown a pair and decided to talk with Screaming-Eagle. May the Divines bless Naeera for her insistence.

He didn't want to speak and ruin this moment. They were only marching briskly through a cold, dusty hallway, sure – but it was important to him nonetheless. Once they were out of the Lucky 38… yes, then he was going to start an actual conversation. On… something.

No, all things considered, silence wasn't a great option. They were supposed to be together for a reason, not just to stand around and keep silent all the time, or else asking her out wouldn't have had much sense to begin with. They had to enjoy themselves, know each other better, stay together. He had to come up with something. Maybe…

_Maybe you could rape her, or kill her, or both? It'd be easier, you know._

"Hey, do you remember that boy Jason, in Vault 24?" Keram-Rei asked her in the least casual way possible – Treads-In-Gloom's insanity didn't help in the slightest. He scratched at the back of his head when she turned in his vague direction and nodded. "You know… I've been listening to the music we got from him."

_If you're just going to ignore me, I'm going to go. Fuck you._

That seemed to pique Screaming-Eagle's interest. She actually focused on his face now, her eyes sparkling in earnest curiosity. It suited her a million times better than academic inquisitiveness. "Really? How is it?"

Her reaction… oh, so she _did_ like music. That made things immensely easier.

"It's great!" Keram-Rei answered with a hint of enthusiasm, both at the subject and at her unexpected interest. He couldn't refrain but try and explain it with a couple of motions with his hands, as though the movements would emphasize his words. "There's so many different genres and styles, you don't even know where to start at first. I don't understand why most of it was banned before the war… there's music for all sorts of moods, for dancing, for relaxing – everything, I tell you."

She tilted her head and smiled along, both of her brows raised. She looked genuinely impressed as they entered the elevator and he pressed the button for the casino. Had she done anything beside researching for the whole week? He somewhat doubted it. Instead of speaking, she blinked as though she had just remembered something embarrassing and looked away, back to toying with her staff like a shy little girl.

He didn't want to risk his head by saying it out loud, but she was cuter than he could ever have imagined.

* * *

This time around, Keram-Rei was glad Yes Man had enough sense not to speak when he and Screaming-Eagle took their first steps into the casino. The destroyed tables had been replaced, and so had the railings, wall panels, slot machines, lights, carpets… and anything else they had managed to burn, splinter or crush. The wrecked Securitrons and sentry bots had either been scrapped or were undergoing repairs, he presumed. He seriously hoped the first option to be the case.

Neither he nor his… well, his _date_ were too hasty to reach the exit. His old enemies of emotions returned to him. No matter how well he masked them, there was still no going around the dreadful feeling that something may go wrong or that his heart was going to burst in his chest. With a quick glance to the right, he guessed she was having her same problem – although she was being much more lovely at it than him. He was the one with the potential to fuck up spectacularly, after all.

He eyed the two robots on each side of the casino with mistrust. If one of those soldier-faced TVs on wheels so much as looked at him wrong, he was going to tear them all to shreds, fuse them and make kitchenware out of them. Great to blow off some steam, too.

Luckily (or maybe not), none of the machines even moved as he covered the distance to the smoked glass doors. He took a step before Screaming-Eagle, opening the door for her. She nodded her head and went outside; he followed a moment later.

The glaring lights and loud crowd hit him as hard as the cold breeze. Keram-Rei blinked the visual assault out of his eyes, tried to hear to his own thoughts in the confusion, and hugged himself to shake the chilly wind out of his bones. Fuck, he hadn't realized how much he was going to miss his armor until now. Linen was good during the desert's days, not at night. Now there was no way he could afford to sound whiny or unmanly in front of her, so that meant no asking to go back inside to wear something heavier. He had to endure it.

Under the thousands of blinding lights, though, he saw Screaming-Eagle shiver. Part of him was sorry for her and wanted to overcome his fear of sounding a little too soft. Changing made sense, after all. The rest of him, however, reminded himself that he had to be kind, handsome, and do whatever he could to aid his dame.

Cursing himself under his breath, he went for the latter. He took his cloak from his shoulders while gritting his teeth and, once he'd made sure she was looking in the other way, he carefully set it on her almost bare back.

Screaming-Eagle's head snapped back like a surprised kitten's. She stared at him with wide eyes, almost as if in shock. She didn't appear to understand what had happened for some moments, then she sank a little deeper in the cloak, draped it tightly around herself and straightened up a little. She whispered something that was lost to the wind.

"What?" Keram-Rei asked over the noise of the crowd and music. He leaned closer to her, oblivious as to what she'd meant to say. "What did you say?"

Screaming-Eagle froze on the spot. Just when he began to worry something was wrong, she cleared her throat. "Thanks…"

Now that he had acknowledged her sense of disorientation, he felt a little less alone than before and drew strength from it. He sketched a smile she was never going to notice, and tore his eyes from her and back to the Strip. He had to find something to do before he said something stupid. He couldn't afford to fuck up.

The boulevard was all but bursting with activity. People dressed in all sorts of weird clothes and dirty dresses walked to and fro, Securitrons patrolled the sidewalks and main lanes alongside NCR military police, mascots in cheap costumes danced or shouted to draw customers to their respective casinos. He couldn't make out a single color under that storm of flashy neons – everything could have been blue, green, red or yellow for all he knew. It was worse than Blackreach. At least the mushrooms there shone in only two colors and didn't glow intermittently.

After his assessment of the usual merry chaos, Keram-Rei did the most courteous thing he could think of and proffered his hand. A few seconds passed before his date noticed it and, slowly, she allowed his fingers to hold hers. Oh, they were made of velvet, so smooth, and perfect, and delicate…

He fought the sudden rush of dizziness and bliss as best as he could. He had to focus on the task at hand… a hand like hers, sliding down his chest and back after a kiss and-

Right, the stairs. He had to descend the stairs with her, possibly without drooling. He made a little pause on every step to allow her to follow at a comfortable pace. Her balance had improved over the past week, but he was afraid she was never going to be quite the same as before she lost her tail. Besides, he was just being nice to her, showing her he worried about her health. This had to help.

Thank the Gods, nobody got close to them once they reached street level. They actually managed to blend in with the crowd. The smell wasn't as bad as he had feared, nor was anyone forgetting their personal space. Everyone kept at a distance of at least a foot from them, or from anyone not part of their bunch. The gamblers were, in fact, divided in several smaller groups. Well, that was a relief. With calm, he settled for searching a place to start their tour of the Strip, and found it at once.

Right across from the Lucky 38 was the awfully interesting place called 'Gomorrah'. The sign caught his attention at once, with the fiery words, the orange neons all over the building, and the two black silhouettes of women sitting in just the right pose to catch his eye. There was a gaggle of mostly men and few women blocking the view of the entrance. He turned to Screaming with a vaguely innocent expression, pointed at that, and earned a nod. He always walked a step in front of her; when he finally got there, he managed to look over a couple of the shortest spectators.

His eyebrows shot up.

Three women, fair-haired, tall and clad in black leather bodices and miniskirts, danced against the entryway's pillars. Well, they didn't exactly _dance_ – it was mostly rubbing themselves against those pillars, twisting around and turning to send kisses towards the audience. Their bodies flowed like water, they managed to bend like grass in the wind, and they overall made him envy the entryway's columns. They ran their hands over their breasts, their faces the visage of ecstasy…

He felt Screaming-Eagle try to inch in a little closer. "What is it? What are you looking at?"

His beautiful date's words redirected the blood flow from his pants back to his head. If she saw he was interested in that show, he was going to regret her reaction for a few years or the whole eternity. He had to come up with something, quick. He could tell her something else, maybe about a group of clowns, or maybe…

Maybe not hide the show at all.

Keram-Rei turned towards her, shaking his head in disapproval and raising his hand to block her. He made clucking sounds with his tongue, and wore a disgusted grimace – a fairly convincing one, if only because it came from actual disappointment. "Nothing but depravity." He announced her gravely. Depravity he was beginning to enjoy, to boot. Yet he was on a date, it wasn't like he could go around look at other women dance and probably-

The crowd let out a loud cheer. Whistles, hoots, even a moan.

Probably strip naked. It wasn't the sort of thing people on a date watched, enticing as that may be. So he settled for a sigh that might have looked pious.

Screaming-Eagle gave him a nod of approval and a proud smile. Well, maybe those strippers weren't that good, after all.

He answered with a small grin of his own, and – no, no staring, it would have been rude, or stupid, or just weird. Instead, he urged her to turn back towards the Strip, raising an arm as though to encompass the rest of the casinos. "Come on, the Gomorrah might have been bad, but I'm sure there's bound to be a nice place around here."

* * *

That place was many things, but it sure as fuck wasn't nice.

The rooftop of a crumbling apartment building gave a great view of the decadence all around. The lights from the Strip shone almost mockingly over the lit barrels on the streets, over the homes abandoned because too unsafe to live in. Homeless men and women, not much more miserable than the ones with somewhere to go, huddled close together underneath cardboard blankets.

Every once in a while, a small group of men in black leather jackets, white or striped shirts and blue jeans walked by. They all carried small guns with them, accompanied by a satchel over the hip with some food, some water, and possibly medicines they sometimes handed out. They appeared to be patrolling. Although unusual, it was possible to spot a person in a long white coat accompanying them, toting around a large bag and tending to the people that looked the worst.

The air smelled of dust, smoke, and trash. There was no concept of hygiene here. Decency had long since made way to need, and thus been forgotten altogether by most. The best clothes were old and ragged, the worst were nothing more than patchwork rags encrusted with filth. This place was the incarnation of poverty, suffering and dereliction – while the 'civilized' folks had fun in the tiny island of wealth and luxury, indifferent to the suffering of the poor.

Naeera couldn't help but smirk in nostalgia. This 'Freeside' reminded her too much of home, of Riften. There had to be something she could do to make things right. They had power now. Why not use it to improve the current conditions of Vegas, help those who needed their aid?

So that was what she was trying to do. She crouched on the ruined corner of a run-down ruin in a city of ruins, waiting for something to happen. Her feelings were equal parts boredom and determination.

Still, for how bad this place was, nothing had happened for at least half an hour. Freeside was supposed to utterly _suck_ – and it did, but the crime rate wasn't as high as she had imagined. Come on, in Riften people got mugged, raped or murdered every fifteen minutes. Now _that_ would've made her busy. With nothing to do, though, she leaned back and sat on the edge, kicking her legs to busy herself while she thought of something.

Who knew how Keram-Rei was doing with Screaming-Eagle, anyway? She hoped well. The battlemage was a good guy; and if one dug really deep under the surface of arrogance and bitchiness, the mage might have been a noble spirit, with solid beliefs. Maybe hanging out with a guy she constantly insulted was going to teach her something about respect – Gods forbid, even make her a better person.

All those thoughts were lost in a giggle, however. She wanted to be there when those two kissed for the first time. There were bound to be laughs aplenty. Oh, and when they tried to figure out how to make love… _that_ was going to be even better!

Naeera's amusement was cut off abruptly by a cry for help. She jumped to her feet, ready to spring in the direction of the scream. A woman, elderly, not far behind her position – an alley darker than the rest of the streets, she was sure.

Finally, _something_.

She grinned and bolted for the action.


	24. A Night in Freeside

The sun had already fallen beyond the horizon, and the only lights to guide Naeera's feet were the stars above and the New Vegas Strip behind her back. Hadn't she been so used to working in the dark, Freeside would have sentenced her death a good three or four times already. Instead, she avoided collapsed sections of the rooftops, vaulted over ancient metal blocks left to rust upon every building, ran along edges that threatened to make her fall into the streets below. There was someone who needed her help, she didn't have time to die.

Damn, and people still said thieves were always up to no good. She was trying to save an old lady now, there weren't many things more averagely heroic than that. Who knew what Screaming-Eagle would've said? Hmm... probably nothing. The bitch had already fallen silent when she'd saved Keram-Rei, maybe witnessing too many faults in her noble mindset was going to give her a stroke.

Although, come to think of it, she could use to see the red-scaled mage's astonished, confused and outraged expression. It was always a good laugh.

She shook her head. There was going to be time for those thoughts – and right now, there was none. She grit her teeth as she reached a line of rusty eaves over the alley she'd been aiming for, imposing her control over breath and heartbeat. She had to be calm and quiet for this.

Like in the Dark Brotherhood, she got down to her haunches and watched.

There was little to see in the dim light, but she spotted the two fighting shapes down there without much difficulty. A smaller, hunched over form was desperately clinging a brawnier one. It had to be the lady she'd heard... it took the big son of a bitch some nerve, trying to rob an old beggar. Still, she was holding her ground as steadily as an Imperial legionary.

When he appeared to grow tired of the struggle, the large man cast the woman aside without so much as a grunt. While she crumpled against a wall and yelped in pain, he bolted for the end of the alley.

Naeera snorted, half in determination, half in anger. He wasn't going to get far.

Time for an assessment of the situation. Okay, three floors from her spot on the roof to down there. She didn't really have a chance of not breaking something if she jumped straight down. In short, she had to find another way there. Nothing new. Well, there weren't guards this time around. Now _that _was a welcome change.

The way she saw it, there were two ways to do it. One, she stalked her prey like a panther, sneaking through the shadows of the night, killed him with her daggers when he thought he was finally safe, and brought the stolen goods back to the old lady. Nah, she wasn't too sure the victim was going to be alive or still there by the time she got back, and things could get complicated pretty fast if the robber had backup.

Option number two, she got down there to get a clear line of sight and planted an arrow in the dick's skull. Faster, more immediate, and a much lower chance of being discovered around Freeside. Yeah, that settled it.

Naeera took a small run-up, then leapt over the edge and into the alley.

Sure enough, her hands found purchase on a fire escape hanging unsteadily from the opposite building. She swung herself up, slithered down the stairs, and pounced over the ancient railing just a dozen feet above the ground. She landed in a roll and jumped to her clawed feet, up and ready over the cracked asphalt of the alley.

Lucky for her and not so much for her target, the mugger still hadn't reached the street beyond. A few seconds at best until he disappeared, she reckoned.

She plunged her hands in her pouch, took out her bow and a single arrow from her quiver, and steadied herself. Plenty of time to do this, she'd had worse assignments. Her fingers were steady with methodical calm as she nocked her arrow, her breath stopped for an instant, her eyes lost all focus save for her target.

She exhaled and let go.

Not far from the end of the alley, she saw the mugger tumble and crash into a small cluster of metal barrels. The sound had been louder than she'd hoped it to be, like a couple of fully armored Orcs being unhorsed. Whatever, it wasn't like she was going to spend another minute there. So she hurried over to the corpse, stuffing her bow back into the satchel as she covered the distance. The wavering fire and unsteady lamps from the street dimly lit the dead man.

The first thing to hit her was the stench. Okay, Freeside smelled roughly as bad as Riften in summer – but by Dibella, she'd met cleaner trolls than this guy. She decided against opening her mouth while she crouched next to the body. He'd been a bulky man, maybe as tall as Keram-Rei and twice as broad. His clothes consisted of brown rags. They were torn, patched, and encrusted in dark stains she didn't want to dwell on too much. Okay, now she just had to take the...

She slammed the heel of her palm against her snout. Oh, for fuck's sake, what had he robbed the lady for in the first place? There was no way of knowing that. She... an unwelcome thought and a sudden surge of nausea answered her. She gagged, but mastered her disgust at once.

Ugh. She was going to have to _search him_ for it.

Naeera drew in a deep breath to steel herself. Not the brightest thing to do at the moment, crouching next to a corpse covered in a thick patina of filth, fluids and assorted bodily excretions she dreaded to think of. She grabbed him by the bare heels, and her scales crawled at the greasy consistence of his skin, dotted by large boils. Okay, she had to focus on a nice old lady thanking her, not on the dead body she was dragging away from the trash cans.

She all but retched when she was finally done with moving it. She squatted next to the head, and tore the arrow from the skull – pleased by the much more familiar and welcome sight of blood, brains and bone – only to throw it in the trash. No way she was putting it in her pouch again, with her good weapons, perfumes, dresses and pristine personal effects.

She heard the old lady moan something, far behind her. _Later._ She told herself. All that had to wait until later, unfortunately.

Now came the hard part. She knelt to the right of the late alley cat, placed a hand under his hip, another under his shoulder, and heaved – and fuck, wasn't he heavy. With the squelching sound that came when the corpse was turned on his back, she threatened to heave in the other sense, too. Somehow, she didn't. Impressive, what growing up in Riften could do.

The man had a scraggly black beard, manky, oily black hair, and the few teeth still in his mouth were about the same color as his hair. His glassy eyes were a watery brown, his nose an indistinct mass in the middle of his face. Hadn't it been for the messy hole carved by her arrow on his forehead, or the hundreds of skin diseases ravaging his haunting expression, he would've looked surprised.

His old brown leather jacket covered nothing but a thin shirt. It was a fancy name for a piece of cloth stained with all manners of nausea-inducing possibilities. His trousers were tattered, with no distinguishable color under the grime, and his feet were bare. Overall, she'd seen draugar better off thousands of years from their death than he'd ever been in life.

"Hello?" A feeble, pained old voice called. _Later. _She was going to get there later.

She noticed in ever-growing alarm that his hands were empty. A quick look towards the bins confirmed that there was nothing there, nor on the surface of the alley. She closed her eyes; partially to distract herself and think of the possible places where he could have put the stolen _something_, mostly not to vomit her lunch.

Her hands reluctantly reached over his torso for any possible protrusions or pockets, but nothing on his breast or belly. She found one right under his armpit. Hope flared in her chest, as she reached under his jacket to take the accursed item.

Her hope turned into repugnance when she pulled out the squishy remains of a... what the fuck, was that supposed to be a _sandwich_?

She shivered and threw it as far from herself as possible, and kept her hands a little farther away from her nostrils than before. Now, if not on his chest, and if his pants showed nothing around the pockets, where...

Could it be the lump on his groin?

"Oh, you've got to be kidding me..." Naeera hissed, revolted beyond imagination, her features twisted by abhorrence. She was struggling to keep her stomach in check. "I shouldn't have fucked with those Namira cultists by saving that priest, I knew it, I just _knew_ it..."

No throwing up. If she threw up, things were going to get even more nightmarish than they already were. She whined like a little girl when she lifted the lip of the body's lip of the trousers. Divines, she was starting to hate this place so much. Why, just _why_? Why to her? She'd served countless customers before – with pleasure, too – but just imagining her fingers to brush against a grubby dead man's manhood chilled her to the core. That was plain fucking _wrong_.

Her focus had to rival that of an Archmage, seeing how she managed to ignore the hairs and the aroma of sewers. No way she could ever forget that, not in a lifetime. She tried not to think about the stuff encrusted there, or the lack of underwear, or the uncomfortable dampness, or-

The trim of rough fabric.

She pulled out the bag of coins with a sigh of relief. The money clanked beautifully in the small, brown purse, more than enough for it to justify all the horrors she'd endured in the last minute or two of her life. Maybe not enough for the nightmares to come, but nevertheless. She let out a silent cry of triumph, slumped her shoulders, and decided to rise to her feet. _Never again._ She swore to herself as she took a napkin from her satchel to wipe her hands.

Naeera began to turn and walk back to the old lady, when she heard the unmistakable sound of footsteps come from the street beyond.

Fuck.

The body was in plain sight, and it wasn't like she had the time nor the place to hide it away – and no fucking way she was ever going to touch it again, either. She fought down the instinct ingrained deep within her thief's core to bolt for the rooftops. Instead, she just hastily made for the victim of the mugging.

This part of the alley was definitely darker, yet not enough to be pitch black and hide the old lady from view. She was surprised to notice the woman was shorter than her. Hunched over, covered in a dark tattered robe of sorts, she was shuffling towards her with impossible slowness.

The old lady's head rose a little. She must have heard her approach; she was getting sloppy. "Who's there?"

"I got your coins back." Naeera swiftly replied, stopping just long enough to place the bag in the woman's hand. She had to hurry away, things had already been bad enough when compared to the rest of her infamous career of thievery. "No need to-"

A pair of elderly arms enveloped her neck. She couldn't run away now, she might have ripped them off, so frail they had to be and so much they creaked. "Oh, thank you!" The old lady cried joyfully in her shoulder. That eased her nervousness and exasperation a little bit. Not much. "Thank you, girl! Thank you so much!"

Naeera tried to delicately edge away from her, but it seemed as though she could only get hugged tighter. This wasn't good. "Yes, but now I've really got to-"

"You saved me, you took my caps back!" The old crone wheezed on. When she finally seemed to let her go, she took the thief's hand in both of hers and kissed it. "I can't believe you came along! Oh, but you should have kept them and found something for your skin, it's like a gecko's. You should go to the Followers."

She was seriously about to shove her aside, but a word held her at bay.

_C__aps_? What exactly did she mean with-

Someone dropped something large. It was roughly around the location of the corpse. Fuck, people already on the scene and investigating... why didn't this old beggar just get lost? Great, she'd taken her money, now it was about time to fuck off.

"Please, my leg hurts, I can't stand well..." The lady told her in a pain she hadn't expressed before. She leaned against her for support, wrapping her arms around Naeera's left. She had to be lighter than Maria. "Could you take me to the Followers? They're good people, they help weak folks like me, maybe they can help with your hands! Please, young lady..."

Oh, why did she have to beg her like that for it? Now she was going to feel dreadful if she refused. Naeera suppressed all of her frustration with a swallow, then got rid of it with a sudden thought. This woman hadn't noticed her tail, her head, nor her feet. They weren't hard to spot this close by, even in the dark, if someone knew where she stood and had already heard her.

She was blind, wasn't she?

Curse her pity, she held her just a bit closer. Wouldn't want her to fall and break her neck after all her work.

"Gah, come on!" A man's voice exclaimed from behind her back. He sounded disgusted, and maybe a little angered. "My first round in two months, and I get this..."

Naeera felt her feathers bristle in happiness at the words. He hadn't noticed them. She encouraged the woman to move, dropping her voice to a whisper. "Come on, let's get out of here before-"

"Hello, hello there!" The old woman shouted back, happy and cheerful. "Over here! A man attacked me, but this girl here saved me!"

For one, very tempting moment, Naeera wondered if the crone could keep on talking if she plunged her daggers into her throat. She hadn't wasted an arrow, almost thrown up, and put her hand down a filthy corpse's pants just for her to be discovered because of a fucking old lady who didn't know when to shut the fuck up. _Fuck._

The man's rant came to an abrupt halt. After a moment or two, footsteps drew closer and closer, and she found herself forced to turn. At least she could begin to calm down, get ready to face a long conversation, explanations and pointed guns with the right mindset. Great, just great. The whole concept of a mysterious hero was not leaving any witnesses, nor getting glory. She had only wanted to help Freeside and avoid being discovered, act like their guardian. The less people saw her, the less chances someone made the connection to the Lucky 38 and Screaming-Eagle gave her the bawling of her life, the better. Besides, it was a tiny tad bit humiliating for a thief to be spotted two times in as many minutes. This had to be her worst night by far.

She saw the silhouette of a man of average height stand against the lights from the streets. He was more than a full head taller than her, anyway, so that had to be average height. Maybe taller. If the flowing fabric around his knees was anything to go by, he was wearing a coat. He had a bag in his right hand, too.

Naeera felt her smile return to her. If this guy was one of those healers, she could just leave the lady to him and run away. Getting discovered had never been part of her plans... but damn, this might work to her advantage now, if she played it right. This was her chance to get things right for the first time tonight.

"Uh... are you two all right?" The healer asked, somewhere between genuinely worried and puzzled. He set his bag on the ground and began to rummage through it. The items inside clinked together occasionally, like the tools and curios inside of an enchanter's bag. "Ah, curse these dark alleys. At least the local thugs could bother to light a barrel or two..."

"Oh, yeah, totally fine." Naeera briskly answered. She all but pushed the old lady in his direction, careful not to break her bones, and made to go away. "That mugger had it coming. Thanks, we're all fine, there's no need to thank me, I did what's right." She shrugged, beginning to step back. "Now if you'll excuse me, I'll just be heading home and-"

White light stabbed at her eyes. She blinked the glare away a few times, only for the realization to hit her with full force in the following instant.

He'd seen her.

Naeera instinctively raised her hands, gave the friendliest and least nervous smile she could, and chuckled tensely. She waved at the light source concealing the healer from sight. "Hey, I know things are pretty awkward right now, but let's keep our cool here..." She let out a little laugh, closer to a trapped mouse's squeak than anything. "Please don't shoot me."

The light trembled before of her, but no reply came. Then, something fizzled. A spark flashed.

The white glare vanished.

The healer must have drawn breath through his teeth, judging by the sound; or maybe he'd bitten down a scream. There were a few moments of outstretched silence as she tried to blink the giant yellow spot away, rubbing at her eyes. Fuck, was that really necessary? Not only did she have to feel the annoyance of having been discovered _twice_, now there was also this new guy to talk to while she was momentarily blind and in the dark.

How had things gone so bad, so fast? At the peak of her infamous thieving career – which was to say, a little over a week ago – she could have gotten into Castle Dour from Solitude's gate and nobody would have even noticed her. She was one with the shadow, she was a Nightingale _and_ a member of the Dark Brotherhood, not a petty cutpurse that tripped over sidewalks. Guard dogs couldn't track her, Dragons circled overhead to spot her, garrisons searched whole fortresses for her. Nobody ever saw her.

Now an old blind woman had found her in the darkness, she'd left a body uncovered, and a random guy had shoved a light in her face. Damn, she really _was_ getting sloppy. Maybe it would be a good idea to train with Eyes-Of-Silver. What better dummy than a ripped werewolf with amazing senses and a sexy accent?

Her dwellings on incredibly solid pecs were cut short by an uncertain cough, followed by a mousy chuckle. "Well, this is... new."

Naeera felt some of the pressure ease away as she lowered her arms. Finally, at least someone who didn't think it fun to scream or alert anyone of their position because _why not_. In fact, a giggle escaped her lips. A sincere one. "Can't say I'm used to this sort of things, either."

"I'm... glad not to be alone in this." The man told her. He sounded calm, unnaturally so. Chances were good he was scared out of his mind. Congratulations for trying to keep the act together, at least. Not for taking a step back or clearing his throat awkwardly, though. "Who – or _what_ – are you?"

"Trust me, it's a _long_ story, buddy." Naeera answered in a sigh. Oh, it felt _so _good, talking to people and not having them run away or think she was wearing a costume. It almost made her feel home. _Almost_. "Anyway, name's Naeera."

She counted up to five. There was a murmur, or a grumble, and a sigh. A deep breath followed. This dude had to be pretty undecided. Not to say that he shouldn't be. It was, quite possibly, the only thing that made sense at the moment.

"I'm not sure this is going to turn out to be productive in the long run, but... I'm Arcade, Arcade Gannon." The healer answered. He offered an unsteady hand to the shadows, and she shook it. His skin was soft, the sort of softness that came from ointments or creams. She liked it. Although, it didn't really fit in a place like Freeside. On a healer, of all people. He squirmed at the contact with the scales, and let go a little too quickly, as opposed to his tone. "The pleasure is mine."

"And I'm Nyx!" The old lady chimed in. In the total darkness, she waved at him. Or, well, she waved at a spot a couple of feet to his right. "Hello, sir! Are you a Follower? My leg hurts."

That was a welcome distraction for both of them. Whereas Naeera immediately stepped towards the old woman to support her, Arcade limited himself to taking his bag back from the ground. Then, with his free arm, he went to the lady's other side and gave Naeera a hand with holding her.

He still shuddered when the thief's arm brushed his. Naeera tried not to make it harder than it already was for him, and remained silent. She was going to poke him later.

"Well, since my flashlight has a perfect sense of timing and decided to break just now, and I can't examine you by moonlight, I'm afraid I can't help you at the moment, ma'am." Arcade told the woman. His voice was already much more firm than before. Was he more comfortable with working than he was with talking normally to people? "We'll have to get to the Old Mormon Fort, do you think you can make it until there?"

"Of course I can!" Nyx retorted with mild indignation. Her bones creaked just a tiny bit less than earlier. "I'm not that old, boy."

"Of course, pardon me." Arcade said respectfully. To a trained ear such as hers, it was more of a 'whatever'. "Now come on, here we go."

As they started forwards at a snail's pace, she realized something that angered and annoyed her in equal measure. She was going to be seen by the fucking entirety of Freeside. Better get ready for it, draw in a deep breath, and avoid killing anybody in sight. Well, if she had to stay like this, she had every right to know one vital piece of information.

"Hey, Arcade, how long to the Fort?" Naeera asked the healer. She hoped it was just around the bend. It had to be, right?

"Normally, five minutes away." Arcade answered. For him and anyone else, it had to be real close. For her... not so much. There was a lot that could happen in five minutes, and she sensed a 'but' was in the air. "At this pace... fifteen."

Naeera ground her teeth together. Those were going to be the longest fifteen minutes of her life. Oh, at least she could pass them in silence, since neither she nor Arcade seemed to be much inclined to talk with-

"This all reminds me of something I did with my sister Eos." Nyx began. She all but caused a double groan, yet she ignored it; or didn't even hear it. Probably the latter. "You know, it was a long time ago..."

Divines save her.

* * *

Naeera suppressed a sob of resignation, bit back a curse, and soldiered on. Tempting though it may have been to rip her own feathers off, she knew she was going to regret it at a later date. So that was out of the question.

By the Gods, that crone just went on, and on, and _on_... was there anything she said that could have been considered interesting? Something she might have actually cared about, for once? No, of course not. First a story about her sister Eos visiting an inactive volcano, then about Nyx herself visiting the same gods-damned inactive volcano, then a tale of _rocks_ and _sand_ and the thief wanting to kill herself and have peace from all that nonsense.

Well, she supposed there was a silver lining to it all, though. As a matter of fact, it outweighed most of the overly-talkative lady's oddities. Not nearly all of them, but _most_ of them for sure.

Freeside was empty.

There was absolutely nobody around – no kids, no men, no women, no old people, no junkies or drunkards, nothing. Noise was always on the edge of their hearing, a street or two away, but no one drew closer to their path. It was like they were being... _avoided_. Was that the sign of an ambush? Were there snipers at the broken windows, mercenary teams behind the cracked walls, bombs inside the rusty wrecks on the streets? It was dark outside. The burning barrels were few and far between. A cloud covered the world's only moon up above. It was the ideal set-up. They were out in the open, slowed down by a bait, with no cover to run to and-

Naeera sighed to herself. _Calm down, Naeera._ She thought, trying to ease her stupid sense of wrongness and have her common sense take hold once more. Y_ou're just making up for your sloppiness with paranoia. Keep your cool. Maybe we're actually being lucky this time around, nothing more._

She guessed the blind old lady hadn't even noticed the silence. Maybe she was half deaf, too. Really, how hard could it be to ignore an empty overcrowded slum when she couldn't figure out her savior had scales, feathers and a tail? The same savior who was, like, _holding her_?

Arcade, however, was a lot wiser than that. It was plain to see he'd found something wrong with the whole situation. It showed in his faint frown, in his pursed lips, in his occasional hum.

No matter how hard she tried, Naeera could never really shake that feeling off. She had spent the last twenty-four years of her life stealing, killing and setting traps and ambushes – and the first eight learning how to do it. So, either there was someone waiting the right moment to strike, or some god was on their side tonight.

"Ah-ha!" Arcade exclaimed a short while later, effectively cutting off the old woman's bullshit once and for all. He raised his arm up, healer bag and all, and pointed ahead of himself. "Here we are, the Old Mormon Fort."

More like a god being on their side, apparently.

Naeera followed the direction he was pointing at with eagerness. When she set her eyes on their objective, she couldn't help but frown and pout like a little girl. Now, she was sure she could have used many words to describe... _that_. The three most fitting, however, had to be 'out of place'.

Just when she thought things couldn't have gotten any weirder, there it was: a good, old-fashioned _fort_ was standing just a couple of hundred of feet ahead of her. Back in Skyrim, she might have thought it normal. Here in Vegas, though, it was as normal as a troll in a leather catsuit.

Red brick walls stood at a good twenty feet above the ground; an unmanned, deserted turret rose at each corner of the structure. Large wooden gates, currently closed, were the only conventional entrance. On the other hand, climbing in had to be pretty easy with all the loose bricks, holes and cracks she spotted. It took up a whole block, separated from any other building on (she guessed) all sides by the road. Something like torches or more barrels burned inside, because she saw the reddish-orange hues chase themselves on a white flag waving above a turret. Inscribed on it was a black cross inside a circle, probably the symbol for the healer group in there.

It was the least secure fortress she'd' ever seen, no wonder it wasn't used as a military base. Besides, that banner made absolutely any sense to Naeera, but she was okay with having reached the place to drop off the crone. Judging by the noise, the inside had to be pretty busy. Footsteps, hushed voices, the occasional groan could be heard even from out there.

"Divines be praised..." Naeera sighed out. They were walking at the same sluggish pace, but she felt somewhat faster, as if the thought of leaving that damned old lady to rot away on some bed could make the remaining steps easier.

Wow, put that way, it really did.

Before she knew it, they were already in front of the gates. Arcade let go of Nyx and walked up to the imposing wooden entrance. It was also the first time she had a good look at him, too, without a hooded old head in the way. He wore an immaculate white coat, worn but clean brown pants and shiny black boots as all the healers like him. They were called the 'Followers of the Apocalypse'. The name was more fitting for a gang of psychopathic raiders in her opinion.

His hair was an impossibly fair blonde for the desert, short, wavy and combed together with utmost care. With his back to her, she had no way of examining his face. From what she'd seen, though, he wasn't half bad for a human. He had this... curious structure over his eyes, though. A couple of rectangles of glass, held together by a black contour and tiny black splints. She was going to ask him what it did later.

He banged his fist on the planks five times in quick succession, paused, then did it two more times. She noticed him counting to ten, and the gates creaked in the nice, low, vaguely creepy way only wood could. They opened just by a speck, enough for the healer to look inside and clear his throat.

"Who is it?" A woman rasped. The timbre was so decayed and old there was no way of telling her emotion. She might have been surprised, or annoyed, or both. "Oh, it's you, Arcade."

"Yes, hello Beatrix." Arcade sighed, pushing the thing over his eyes a little higher on his nose. "I have an elderly woman who needs a hand. Could you please let me in my home and workplace?"

The woman on the other side let out a grunt. She sounded like a hagraven. Still, the gate swung back enough to accommodate all of them through, and to give Naeera a glimpse of the courtyard. It was decently lit, and she spotted several large white tents inside. A Follower was trotting from one of them to another. The gatekeeper, a woman with a long brown coat and a broad brown hat, headed for a chair and table; no doubt an impromptu checkpoint.

Naeera drew in a deep breath. Gods help her, this was stupid. A lot dumber than anything else she'd done that night.

She helped Arcade bring Nyx inside. The feeling of unease when she was around wounded, ill or suffering people crawled back into her guts. She hated not being able to help, watching men and women just lay there, beyond her possibility to give aid. There were so many ways this could go wrong... still, it wasn't like she had a choice, right? She'd promised to get that fucking corpse-to-be here, and so help her, she was going to.

No more than three steps in, a couple of healers – no, a couple of _Followers_ \- had noticed her. The one on the right dropped the crate he was holding, while the other stopped mid-sentence. Both of them had their eyes wide-open and fixed on her. She smiled, nodded nervously, and looked back forwards.

She bared her fangs and let go of Nyx at once.

There was an undead in there.

As she went for her daggers, she tried to take in the details of the thing. It had been an her: its skin had rotten and peeled away, showing the ancient muscle and flesh underneath. Patches of dark hair still clung to the skull, where the bone hadn't been exposed by the passage of time. It had no nose, no recognizable features except for slit in place of its mouth, no ears. It wore a torn, dark brown coat and a hat.

The Followers had an undead for a gatekeeper? No, it wasn't possible, Arcade didn't sound like the guy to make use of necromancy. Something had happened there while they were away. She bet it was one of the two staring at her – unexpected, maybe a fatal snag in their plan.

The thing sat down in the chair as a normal human would have. Convincing, but not to someone who'd been avoiding or fighting draugar for years. It was just the sign of a good spell, woven by a sorcerer who cared about the results or the feelings they received. It leaned against the backrest, crossed its legs, and opened its rheumy blue eyes. "So, what-"

It fell silent almost at once. It blinked – as though it needed to – and opened its mouth in a grotesque parody of surprise.

Naeera drew her weapons. She was ready to kill the thing without a second thought. She hissed her challenge to the reanimated corpse and stomped a foot in front of her. A dead body couldn't feel fear... but it could react to a provocation and focus on her, giving Arcade and the old lady time to get away while she got rid of it.

A finger delicately tapped on her shoulder. "If I may, Naeera, what's going on?"

"I'm buying you time!" Naeera growled back at Arcade, shrugging the hand away. Divines, was he seriously ignoring the threat there? "Get out of here, I'll deal with the undead!"

Arcade was beginning to say something, but she ignored him. She dashed forwards, vaulted over the table, crashed into the sitting corpse. She pinned it down with her knees on its chest, looked down, and snarled in its face. If it was smart enough to talk, maybe it could give her answers. "What are you?"

The thing's dumbstruck, almost fearful look vanished. Its eyes hardened, its lips peeled back in a snarl. "Pissed off!"

That left the thief speechless for a second.

A skinless fist smashed into her snout.

Naeera fell back. The blow had been strong as a drunk Nord's in a brawl, and left her disoriented and short of a tooth or two. She shook her head, spat the blood, and rolled up to her feet. The undead had drawn a gun from its hip, and was pointing it straight at her.

Fuck her, tonight she was piling error upon error. Now, though, she was actually going to pay for it... unless she managed a Shout in time. She swallowed some more blood, narrowed her golden orbs on the thing, ready to blast it away. _Force, Balance, Push._ The three words echoed inside of her mind, she was ready to-

From the right edge of her vision, Arcade burst to place himself between them and held his arms out. "Wait, wait, wait, both of you!" He almost shouted, _almost_. His cool was cracking, and still he was trying to save her, risk his own life for hers.

Then, out of the blue, he glared at her. "Naeera, in the name of all that is holy, what were you _thinking_?"

Okay, heroism or no, she still had to meet someone so dumb as to defend a fucking corpse. Naeera set her hands on her hips, cocked her head, and scowled back. "Oh, I don't know, maybe I'm trying to get rid of an _undead_?"

"Hey!" The... fairly unique revived body shouted in its raspy voice. "Who the fuck are you calling a zombie, lizard?"

Lizard.

_Lizard._

Naeera felt every ounce of her patience evaporate in an instant. She gripped her daggers as hard as if they were the thing's throat, she grit her teeth so hard she could grind bone with them, she felt the beginnings of a howl knocking on her fangs to be set free. Her blood boiled and bubbled in her veins. "Arcade, if you don't get the fuck out of my way, I swear to the gods I'm going to strangle you." She punctuated it with a growl. "And yes, I'm calling you a zombie, you rotten, undead shit!"

"Please, calm down, and avoid killing each other while I'm standing between you!" Arcade didn't quite scream. Still his composure didn't shatter. She had no idea how he was holding the pieces together. He might have been shaking. "I'll make the introductions: Naeera, this is Beatrix – Beatrix, Naeera! Nobody's a zombie, and nobody's a lizard!"

Wait... Beatrix? That ugly _thing_ had a name so nice?

The heat began to dissipate. Slowly but surely, she began to think about its – _her_ behavior, her attitude, her speech, how she was standing and murderously glaring at her. No necromancer could recreate that. That was no corpse.

This Beatrix was... alive? But how? It wasn't possible.

Yeah, and last time she'd checked, explosives and guns weren't possible, either. In fact, none of the stuff here on Earth would have been on Nirn. If the folks around here had a functional, cadaver-looking lady, who was she to blame them? Though, to be fair, the bitch had punched her in the face. She wasn't going to forget it. She made sure neither Beatrix did by growling at her.

The not-quite-undead spat on the ground in return. Oh, it warmed her heart to see people started to love her here already. She could stick her pistol up her rotting asshole, for all she cared. Speaking of people...

Naeera's eyes widened.

A crowd had gathered all around her, Arcade and Beatrix, leaving a good dozen feet between the circle and the three. White coats weren't the only thing visible: among them were dark leather armors, overcoats, shirts, even bandages. Men, women and a few children were all there to stare at the new arrival. How many people were there? Forty? Fifty? Sixty, tops? For a thief, they were too much.

For a whore? Just fine.

Naeera straightened up. She set her shoulders, dusted her bottom, flicked her tail. She ran a hand through her long feathers and cleared her throat, much to Arcade's relief. Murmurs ran through the audience. She couldn't make out what they said, but she was pretty sure of who they were aimed at. Arcade looked... relieved. Beatrix let a small smile grace her mirror-shattering face.

Okay, she had to keep her cool, keep her cool. This was no different from... picky customers, yes. They were all looking at her, measuring her, trying to imagine what she was capable of, how much they were going to pay for her presence there. Yes, just like that – maybe nobody wanted a tailjob, but she was fine with that. No reason to have them fear her. She cut the furious act and subdued her nervousness. She wanted to be a heroine for them, right?

She allowed herself a smile.

Everyone started to freak out.

Oh, that was just great. There was no way shrieks and pointed guns were going to help with her situation now. She drew in a deep breath, opened her mouth to speak, raised a hand, and-

Just when she'd thought of what to say and how to handle the situation, someone had the brilliant idea to ruin it all. A woman detached herself from the screaming, panicked crowd. She was a Follower. Not hard to tell, what with the coat with the black cross patch and all. What could have tricked people, and confused her a little, was the hairstyle.

Now, Naeera was used to a whole lot of cultures: from Khajiit and Argonians to Humans, passing through Mer and Orcs, and the odd race hiding in the woods. She was familiar with a thousand different hairstyles on roughly two dozen peoples. On a woman of Breton and Nord blood like the Follower cautiously walking towards her looked, shoulder-length hair would have been splendid. Dark brown, if she were to guess. Yes, definitely, especially with her large nose and her full lips.

Completely shaved save for bloodred spikes sticking straight up, though? That was an odd choice even for a male bandit. Or a Forsworn.

However, the extremely fascinated way she measured her up with those green eyes (a somewhat common trait here in the Mojave, it seemed) set her apart from those savages. She took one slow step after the other, holding her hands up in a pacifying gesture.

"Please, everyone!" The woman spoke as she faced the crowd. Gentle though her voice sounded, her tone had the sharp edge of command to it, which seemed to amplify it as though she were preaching in a temple. The screams subsided as most heads turned towards her. "I believe this was all just a big misunderstanding, please remain calm!"

Naeera raised an impressed brow at that. She followed her relaxed posture, her glances towards anyone who might have caused trouble. Some men she identified as mercenaries lowered their weapons. The ill didn't move, the other Followers drew inspiration and tried to placate the unrest as best as they could on their own. This one had to be the boss around there, no doubt about that.

She had to say, maybe she'd handled the situation better than she'd wanted to. Shouting words of power at them wasn't a great idea when she thought about it in hindsight.

The lead Follower met her eyes once more. Whatever uncertainty she may have harbored, she left it at the door and presented a smile and a small bow. "Hello there. My name is Julie Farkas. And you are...?"

Silence fell.

Naeera frowned, but answered with a bow of her own. This Julie had a certain motherly air to her, one of both authority and care uncommon for her age; she couldn't have been older than forty. No wonder these people respected her so much. "Naeera."

"It's a nice name." Julie answered. The thief blinked in confusion at the unexpected compliment. "Forgive me if the question sounds rude, but... what are you?"

"Uh... no, it's cool, really." Naeera assured her with neutrality. This was a test of sorts, she knew it. This woman could have let the guards deal with her, or forced her to go away. Instead, she was asking her questions: she'd gone so far as to establish order once more to hear her out. It showed a little in those green eyes. She wanted to trust her. "It's sort of a long story, and I'm sure you're all very busy, but let's just say I'm a... _something_ called an 'Argonian'. I'm a reptile, I've got gills to breathe underwater, and I'm very resistant to poisons and diseases." The thief paused. "That enough?"

Excited whispers and awed murmurs spread through the crowd. Who could blame them? It wasn't like they met a new species every day, especially one that didn't try to eat their faces and reasoned with them.

It would have been wrong to say Julie's smile faltered. Rather, it changed from friendly to... captivated. "That would be more than enough, thank you." She bit her lip. "Well, actually-"

"Where are you from?" A grizzled, middle-aged man shouted just by the edge of the circle.

Naeera wanted to sigh; she settled for a gulp. That couldn't possibly be of any help.

In fact, the rest of the crowd began to get rowdy again – this time, in excitement. Voices overlapped each other in their intensity, their owners yelling louder and louder to try and exact an answer out of her. It wasn't like she was afraid of a large group of civilians... the idea of being approached by a whole mob, though, even if not enraged, set her nerves on edge. Unconsciously, her hands slipped towards her daggers.

"Are there more of you?"

"You're an alien!"

"Why you got tits?"

In all that – before Naeera resorted to her skills – Julie shook her head. Even under the constant barrage of questions and the odd idiot trying to get close, she motioned for the thief and Arcade to follow her. The audience parted in front of the lead Follower, and Naeera followed as close as she could. It was going to become a nightmare in no time.

Some of the other Followers broke off from the crowd, trying to keep the ill and guards at bay while the three of them retreated somewhere more private. They weren't going to be able to do much alone, she just knew-

A gun barked.

People screamed for a moment, before another gunshot silenced them.

Naeera whirled around in the blink of an eye. Had some of the guards opened fire? Was someone hurt? Had anyone gotten the children? Oh, if a kid had been hit, she was going to rip the son of a bitch open...

She was relieved to see it was just Beatrix aiming her gun to the sky. There was something savage and authoritative about that rotten visage, something that sparked a tiny flame of respect in her. She was never going to show it, of course. "Alright, smoothskins!" She snarled like an angry guard dog – a pretty apt comparison, now that she thought about it. "Julie wants to talk to them, and she goddamn will! Get back to your tents!"

Her yells grated on her hearing canals worse than a draugar's Shouts. It only added to the intensity of her voice: the crowd was compelled to obey almost at once. Beatrix met her eyes, narrowed them, and nodded.

Naeera nodded back, then hurried back to where Arcade and Julie were waiting for her. It was the entrance to one of the towers, hidden behind a couple of large white tents, and consisted of an old-looking wooden door; more so than the rest of the fort. When the two Followers opened it, one of the hinges all but shattered on them.

Nevertheless, she followed them inside. The interior was rather... poor, for lack of a better word. Clean as could be, though. The rotten wood had almost been polished, and the two metal shelves in there were covered by all manners of shiny glass bottles, phials and ampules. A stretcher waited by one of the brown brick walls. That was it: the tiny light bulb overhead shed its yellowish glow on those things alone.

Julie motioned towards a small flight of stairs, and walked up the steps just after Arcade. Naeera tried her best not to leave too many claw marks on the wood. She didn't have high hopes. Well... the place was old, right? Maybe they weren't even going to notice. Even better: if they did, those cuts were going to be nice material for a story.

At the end of the stairs was a single, square room. Julie's, if her guess was good. It followed the same pattern of the one downstairs. No decorations, but perfectly tidy. A bed was tucked away at the corner farthest from the railings. Next to it, a desk, three chairs and a shelf bursting with books.

The lead Follower took place behind her desk. Arcade sat down on one of the two chairs opposite of her. Naeera gave one last look at the room, noticed the lack of windows with something approaching relief, and went to seat herself next to the fair-haired Follower.

As soon as they were all comfortable, Julie allowed her smile to return. She interlaced her fingers on the surface of the desk as if in prayer. "So, Naeera... what brought you here?"

This woman looked trustworthy, friendly, and the men and women of Freeside actually liked her. In short, good people.

However, she didn't remember _one_ detail of what they'd told to the NCR about the frozen wasteland of Kenya or something. If she tried to improvise, they were eventually going to come in contact, and things were going to be pretty awkward for her and her friends (and acquaintance if she counted Screaming-Eagle). She couldn't just say she was part of a larger group who'd killed House, either – too much extremely important stuff happening all at once. Besides, from what the girls had said at dinner a couple of days ago, it sounded like the citizens of Vegas thought Phoenix and Veronica had gotten rid of him.

"I was just looking for some action." Naeera recounted as she wrapped her tail around the chair's leg. Hey, it wasn't technically a lie. "I thought about it, saw the state of Freeside, and figured I was bound to find something to do in here."

"She saved an elderly woman from a mugging by planting an arrow in the robber's skull." Arcade deadpanned. "That's her idea of-"

"Hey, it served him right!" Naeera retorted at once. She sat straighter, and took advantage of her golden eyes to better narrow them at him. "You don't go around mugging old ladies like that. That's what overbearing dicks do."

Arcade shook his head, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Anyway, as I was saying, that respectful and taciturn woman was wounded, and insisted to be brought here. Then Naeera attacked Beatrix, and here we are."

Naeera's long feathers bristled at his sass. She was about to shout Beatrix might have been an undead for all she cared, but kept her mouth shut. This world had no sorcery, that's what Screaming-Eagle had said. If she started talking about necromancy and all the other schools of magic, then she was as good as done. Instead, she remained silent, and simply hissed at Arcade.

That got him to shiver a little. She smirked victoriously.

Julie cleared her throat out loud. Both Naeera and Arcade met her unflinching gaze and her motherly smile again. "I can't speak for how you killed a man in cold blood, but... you appear to have good intentions. Is that so?"

"Well, this place sucks, there's gotta be someone strong to help around, right?" Naeera answered with a lopsided grin. Her expression hardened into a more sober, angrier one. "I've seen starving families, diseased whores, drug addicts at every corner. And who's doing something about it? Nobody." She snorted. "You, and maybe the gang with the black leather jackets."

"They're the Kings." Arcade told her. He stroked at his chin with a hum. "Well, one may argue about their appearance, and accent, _and_ how they came to be, but they aren't bad. At least they're _trying_ to give some semblance of order to the people of Freeside."

Naeera raised a brow. She made a mental note to try and approach these 'Kings' sometime.

"Well, that's all I wanted to hear." Julie started. With a radiant beam and a clasp of her hands, she turned to Naeera. "Naeera, no matter our differences, especially anatomical – I can feel you've got your heart in the right place. This... isn't something I get to say very often, but here we are, right?" She chuckled a little nervously; the rest sounded excited. "Would you... like to help us Followers?"

Naeera looked at Julie Farkas. She took in her large nose, her full lips, her abhorrent hair, her big smile. She glanced at Arcade's unconvinced yet hopeful eyes, at the small structure covering them, at how he chewed his lip. She thought about the people out there, all the other Followers, and guards, and ill – yes, even that uglier-than-sin bitch Beatrix. Freeside was pretty big, there had to be so many more out there... and it looked like these healers were alone in all that. It was going to be hard, doing whatever she could to help.

A memory of Riften's dank air and its filthy alleys flashed upon her mind, an image of resigned people, of a little gray girl hiding in the Ratway.

She grinned back. "Are you kidding me? I'm in."


	25. Masks

Keram-Rei glanced at Screaming-Eagle's resolute look with a raised brow, then stared straight in front of him. So... she'd finally picked a casino she liked. Fair enough, he guessed.

Amid the melody of music and voices, the dazzling lights and the overall jolly mayhem of the New Vegas Strip, there stood a building that seemed almost out of place. First thing he noticed, it had a _garden_ decorated by palms trees and palmettos, in which a monolithic stone fountain sprayed water up high – as though people weren't dying of thirst all around Vegas. By the sidewalk, the low neon sign proclaimed it as 'The Ultra-Luxe Vegas Resort' in white, cursive letters against a black marble background.

The casino itself only reminded him of the Imperial City's Arena. It had all the looks of a titanic section of the curved seats, the only difference being that the building was made of glass and white stone. A tower sprouted from its exact center. A golden, crowned shield at its very top announced to the world this was indeed the Ultra-Luxe, in case it wasn't clear enough already. The entrance had to be the least impressive thing of all, to be honest. A squat cylinder with backlit stairs leading to it, and covered by what to him looked like a giant, upturned saucer.

Although, he did spot something that baffled him. This place still had a cobblestone driveway, and nobody walked over it. Most preferred to just go around and enter through the paved entryway. He guessed it had to be because of the cars parked there.

... What?

He had to rub at his eyes to make sure he wasn't hallucinating. They weren't abandoned wrecks like in the rest of the Mojave. He recognized the elongated, sleek forms as limousines – they looked straight out of a detective holomovie. Two of them were painted jet black, one satin white. None of the windows missed, the tires and rims were still bolted on, not a single scratch on the bodywork. At first guess, he would have said they were just scenic props. When he saw the back doors to the white one open, revealing a blonde woman in a snow white dress and an obese man in a black suit as they descended, his jaw almost dropped.

The sort of customers that went to the Ultra-Luxe could afford functioning _cars_? Limos at that, too! Not to mention, some of them were fat? No wonder it had caught Screaming-Eagle's eye. Maybe the sight had triggered some form of noble reflex in her, drawn by the luxury in there.

As if on cue, his date tugged at his elbow. "Well, what are we waiting for?"

Keram-Rei didn't reply. He simply acknowledged her with the most handsome smile he could put together and started forwards through the relatively small crowd.

Needless to say, it made him nervous. There was not one person around there without either a tux or an evening gown. Sure enough, Screaming-Eagle's dress was just perfect for the occasion. His ultramarine tunic, however, made him look like a colorful Alik'r pirate... with a Pip-Boy 3000 attached to his arm, to boot. Was that why everyone was turning their heads towards him with a mixture of discomfort and amusement? Damn, he knew he'd fucked something up...

_Or maybe it's because you and your would-be girlfriend are anthropomorphic reptiles. You know, giant lizards like us aren't something you see every day around here, you mentally-challenged gecko._

Oh, right, there was_ that _to keep in mind. Of course.

Nevertheless, they strode on. His humble upbringing always made him jittery around rich people – not helpful in this case. The Ultra-Luxe oozed opulence. Still, there was no reason to fear them... no, it was the exact opposite. Nobody knew what he was capable of, or the thousands of magical aces up his sleeve. He could just leave them in awe and be done with it.

Maybe it wasn't the brightest idea, come to think of it. It would draw too much attention to them, so... alright, he was going to do absolutely nothing. It wasn't like those gamblers could do anything to him, or order him around. Yeah, fuck them and their expensive clothes.

Okay, no daydreaming. Firstly because an hour had passed since sunset and he guessed it didn't really count as day anymore, secondly because he was going to do stupid things if he didn't focus on Screaming-Eagle. There was a high chance he was going to mess up anyway, especially if he focused too much on her. He had to balance things out. So they climbed the steps, gathering a few gasps from the nearby walking moneybags, and then they finally arrived at the front doors. They exchanged a glance, smiled, and pulled open the pane of white smoked glass.

Screaming-Eagle let out a pleased little noise to his right, something between a giggle and a soft coo.

Keram-Rei simply blinked and grunted his amazement. "Damn."

The entry hall was perfectly circular, as the outside suggested. He took in the three ring levels, each separated by a small step, and their brown fitted carpets, decorated by silvery round lines and sober blue flower motifs. Slot machines leaned against the far walls, while the lower level was provided with blackjack tables. The walls' covering consisted of alternating white and black marble tiles, polished to a sheen.

An immense glass orchid the size of a Cliff Racer basked the whole reception in a warm blue glow. It had to be higher than the palms outside. It reached up to the curved ceiling, which emitted a gentle white light of its own, and its petals reached down just a few feet from the large desk. Not too many of the people inside seemed to care about it, though. Why? He'd never seen something so curious and charming back in Tamriel. Alright, Blackreach left half of Vegas in the dirt... yet why did everyone ignore the nice things here? They just sat at the tables, or at the slots, or milled about and talked in a low voice, accompanied by a soft, distant tune. The smell of lit cigarettes and cigars attacked his nostrils, causing him to grimace. Two people out of three smoked in there, if not more.

Someone clearing his throat brought him back to reality.

He turned to his left. A bald man in a white-and-gold ceramic mask was staring at him and Screaming-Eagle – he figured the guy was scowling – as though they'd spat in his eye. He was pretty short; the black tux and white shirt one size too large did nothing to help with his stature. Why, he kinda resembled one of those Atmoran birds that couldn't fly... It looked like he was restraining himself by keeping his hands behind his back, gripping his wooden cane so tight he might have broken it in half.

_You know, that kind of reminds me of some Tribunal masks I've seen somewhere..._

The man cleared his throat again, tapping his foot on the ground. "I beg your pardon, but I am afraid such... _grotesque_ costumes from rival casinos are forbidden from entering the Ultra-Luxe." He let out an uppity little snort. "Please, I will have to ask you to go away. I am sure the Dragon's Lair is above such dirty tricks as stealing the clientele."

Costumes? What the fuck was this little...

Wait, it was just like the first time they'd entered the Strip. Everyone had thought they were mascots. That's why nobody had said a thing back then.

Still, his masked face was getting in his and his date's way. He felt his fists clench at his sides. This prick had the nerve to call them _grotesque_ costumes? Was he blind, saying something so tactless to a beauty like Screaming-Eagle? Punching him square in the face and shattering his stupid mask sounded very, _very_ tempting at the moment... but no, that wasn't going to do. For now. Keram-Rei went for the best he could do.

He glared at him, narrowed his eyes, and bared his fangs.

The porter instantly staggered back. Too bad he didn't scream, though. He'd been hoping for that. Instead, the man took the instant composure that was expected of him in such a fancy place and only whimpered.

Keram-Rei snorted out a laugh. He allowed his features to relax, smirking at him. Didn't mean he wasn't furious at the short asshole for his manners. "Yeah, that's what I thought." He scowled. "This is how you treat guests in the best casino on the Strip?"

The man shook his head at once. "A-a-absolutely not, sir and..." He swallowed quickly, two or three times. "And madam. Go... good evening, I bid you welcome to the Ultra-Luxe."

Keram-Rei chuffed as a sign of approval. He took Screaming-Eagle's arm back in his own, ready to move forwards, when he heard a tiny little cough that sounded like it almost hoped it couldn't be heard.

"I am... well, my sincerest apologies, but y-you will have to present any... any weapons you may be carrying on your persons." The usher managed between a couple of coughs and a nervous laugh. He desperately worked his fingers around his bowtie. Judging by the sweat glistening on his throat and bald head, that collar must have felt like a noose. "I am required to confiscate them for... for... safety measures."

Keram-Rei realized two things. One, he had no weapon on him save for his magic, and things never went well when he wasn't armed – even a dagger would have put him at ease. Two, this little guy was really asking for a beating. There was no way in Oblivion he could find an annoying cockroach like this dude on his first date. It had to be some Gods' revenge on him for something he had forgotten about.

… _Whatever it is, I'm enjoying it. Hope there's more of it._

"Oh, I can assure you, we're unarmed." Screaming-Eagle graciously told the man, tapping her staff on the ground. That simple gesture calmed him down, nullified Treads-In-Gloom's unnecessary comment, and allowed him not to kill the porter. "I merely use _this_ for walking since, as you can see, I have no tail. As for my friend here, he is concealing no weapon." The corners of her mouth curled into a kind smile. "May we go now?"

The tiny bastard apparently liked her answer. He nodded a few times (maybe to convince himself this was all really happening) and motioned for them to go further inside. "Yes, certainly. My deepest apologies for for the slightest inconvenience. Once again, forgive me... please, do enjoy your stay!"

Keram-Rei repressed a growl on his way to the center of the hall. He had the impression he really wasn't going to enjoy anything in there. No ranting about it: he was doing it for Screaming-Eagle's sake.

He allowed her to lead him to the immense glass flower. As it turned out, it wasn't the reception. It was a bar. Which was... kind of obvious, considering the mahogany counter, the black stools and the valuable-looking bottles on the round shelf. Of the four people in tuxes sitting there, only one turned his head. His beady eyes widened comically as soon as he spotted them. In an heartbeat he cleared his throat, leaving a little bag on the counter before he hurried away. The remaining three men followed his example one after the other.

That left them alone with the bartender, a masked lady in a light pink dress. The blue light played interesting tricks on her body, especially her chest... she had to be wearing a corset underneath. Elegant, yet intriguing. Smart move on the owner's part, he had to give them that.

"Hello?" Screaming-Eagle called. She planted her staff to earn her attention. "Pardon me miss, but we are in need of information."

The woman appeared to have noticed her. Yes, she had definitely noticed her: she retreated right into a stand of whiskey bottles and tried to melt into it. When she remembered her body had a physical consistence, she gave them a stiff bow. "Good... evening. How may I... serve you... tonight?"

Keram-Rei closed his eyes. This was one of _those_ days. He reopened them to glance away, when he spotted another of those masked men by the slot machines. There, by the entrance to the main part of the building, two more women like this one, same dresses and mask. One man at every blackjack table – everyone with identical ceramic and golden masks. None of them sported their own faces.

He didn't like it one bit.

"Oh, we merely require a little description of the casino, that is all." Screaming-Eagle announced, smiling. She flicked her wrist for emphasis. "The Strip is a new place for us, so confusing and so varied, and your establishment seemed to be the classiest in all of it. Not to mention, the most decent."

"Really?" The woman murmured, dumbstruck. She set her shoulders at the realization a non-human was complimenting her workplace, straightened the creases in her dress, and nodded firmly. "I mean, but of course – yes, the Ultra-Luxe is the grandest and most refined of all the casinos on the Strip, and we of the White Glove Society strive to retain our reputation as an elite group. What is it you require, uhm... madam?"

White Glove Society... 'Faceless' sounded like a better name. Not as fancy, but definitely more fitting.

_By Dagon's four arms, _please_ don't start making up names, it's embarrassing..._

"What do you suggest we visit?" Keram-Rei broke it down for her. Not too brusquely, as he was surprised to find out. He wasn't going to stand around as they chit-chatted and exchanged useless niceties. Well, Screaming-Eagle was free to do anything she wanted to, of course – but the people of the casino were starting to give him the creeps. Their masks made it look like they had secrets to hide. "There's got to be something unique to this place."

"Aside from our unmatched style and class, if I may correct you, sir." The woman answered him. Her tone felt little colder than with his date, maybe for the lack of unnecessary courtesy. "But yes, I can assure you the rest of the Strip envies us for countless reasons. Our food, for example. The Gourmand is the finest restaurant in all of Vegas, thanks in no small part to our brilliant chef Philippe and his-"

"That sounds like a great idea for later." Keram-Rei cut her off with a false smile. It widened when he heard the bartender snort. "We'll be sure to visit it at some point. Is there anything else you have to offer? A theater? An orchestra? Some form of entertainment?"

"Oh, that would be nice." Screaming-Eagle interjected casually. He wasn't sure if she was either tagging along or she was just oblivious to his little game. Anyway, her help was accepted. A shame the bartender's face was concealed by her mask. That was half the fun gone.

The woman's arms stiffened against her sides. She had to be grinding her teeth, because it sounded as though she was forcing her voice out. "We at the Ultra-Luxe do not share the same tastes as the rest of the Strip, nor their 'forms of entertainment', as you call their uncultured amusements. We do however pride ourselves with the only bathhouse in all of Nevada."

Keram-Rei hid his next smile. So it was true, nobody had ever set foot inside the Lucky 38 since the Great War.

"Unlike those in California, though, only a minimum quantity of chlorine is employed." The bartender continued. Her words caught his interest at once – even Screaming-Eagle's. A swim at the one in the Lucky 38 always ended with a severe cough and a headache, what with the insane quantity of chlorine employed to keep it clean that inexorably ended up in their gills. "We mainly rely on imported salt, so that our customers may be exposed to as little toxic elements as possible."

Screaming-Eagle nudged at his arm. He met her eyes, which were just as moderately wide and curious as his at the prospect of a pool of fresher water. Before he got lost in those ruby red orbs, he cracked a grin and nodded.

She turned towards the bartender, bowed her head, and allowed herself a faint smile. "Thank you for your help. Where is this bathhouse?"

"As soon as you enter the main hall, after the cashier, I advise you turn to the left." The woman recounted with relief. So much for politeness. "You will see two elevators. Take the one on the right, and it will take you to the swimming pool."

Keram-Rei didn't even want to hang around to thank her. That bitch's mask and attitude had started to grind on his nerves a little too much... but no matter, they had no more reason to speak with her anymore.

He was finally back to staying with Screaming-Eagle, accompanying her in silence, being close to her. That was more than enough to make him forget the man at the entrance and the bartender. It had to be worth it... for her, right?

_Oh, trust me, it's worth it just looking at you endure it all._

He only answered by gritting his teeth.

Past the short hallway from the entrance, it wasn't hard to miss the cashier. It was to the left of an antechamber to the main hall, where a crowned neon writing informed that this was the _Cashier_, capital C, behind whose ornate bulletproof glass were three masked people at terminals. He didn't care too much about the room itself. Yes, unique, classy, fancy, with paintings at the walls and giant ferns in the middle and all that... the staff had helped him in losing interest in the place. Maybe they should really have picked the Gomorrah, at least that one had looked straightforward.

Screaming-Eagle appeared to be fascinated, yet not so much as to ignore him. She intercepted his glance, raising a brow. "Is something wrong?"

"I... don't like it here." Keram-Rei admitted in a whisper. "Those masks make my scales itch."

"Were it only the masks..." Screaming-Eagle muttered, earning a chuckle from him. She joined in. "Oh, what can I say, at least the casino itself is nice."

"I'd like it better if the people were as nice." Keram-Rei commented dryly. He hid his proud smile as she laughed gently, melodiously. Sharp as ever, she hadn't let the Ultra-Luxe's appearance fool her, and had seen something rotten in there. "Come on, let's see this pool."

He didn't pay much notice to the great hall, to the high ceiling and its chandeliers, to the fenced areas with tables. Sure enough, the acrid smell of smoke got to his nerves pretty quickly, as did the stares and the sudden silence when they entered the reception itself. Strangely for one such as him, though, he was starting to get ignore it all. Any other day, he would have probably shouted at them to fuck off. Maybe to stop smoking, too.

Finding the elevators wasn't hard at all. To the left of the large, semicircular wooden reception desk – which stood empty at the moment – he spotted the two elevators. He stuck to the bartender's words and went for the one to his right. Seconds passed, they ignored the remarks of the guests, he began to regret his decision to enter this casino. The usual whenever he was in some opulent palace, basically.

The doors hissed open without a sound. Hmm, nice change from the loud dings of the Lucky 38 and Yes Man's annoyingly cheerful interjections. He sighed out in relief at the thought, motioned for Screaming-Eagle to enter first, and followed suit.

* * *

Keram-Rei had been expecting many things, but a thermal shock couldn't be counted among them.

As soon as the doors opened, a warm mist flooded the elevator. The air grew as hot as the summer winds of Black Marsh, the mirrors steamed up – overall, he was glad he had chosen not to wear anything heavy. The atmosphere was already familiar in there. It almost made up for the extreme luxury of the rest of the casino. Truth be told, the scent of bath salts and soaps was the exact opposite of Black Marsh's aromas, but it sure was appreciated.

He stepped outside onto slippery tiles, and admired the bathhouse. The floor consisted of small, white ceramic tiles, which turned to a deep blue near the pool's edges and at the white marble pillars' bases. Simple mosaics adorned the walls and ceiling under the two side aisles. The main nave was covered by an immense, corrugated steel structure, painted the color of midnight sky. Tiny dots of light peppered its surface like stars, casting their glow over the steamy surface of the swimming pool. Benches lined the walls, whose motifs were only marred by a metal door just to his right and by the elevator itself.

_Well, I'd say it's real fucking neat-o. Don't you think, Keram-Rei?_

His brows went up in agreement. _Absolutely._

"Why is everyone half-naked?" Screaming-Eagle hissed at him, gripping at his right arm. Disgust and discomfort mixed up rather nicely in her voice, like whenever he mentioned insects around her.

Keram-Rei shrugged her question aside. "It's a bathhouse, people bathe here. I'm pretty sure swimming around in a tuxedo wouldn't be all that practical."

Every man and woman in there, most of them in their forties, wore little else besides towels or swimming trunks and bikinis. A few younger ladies looked nice in their costumes, although he tried not to look too much at the men. Some of the older ladies sported full-body swimsuits... and thank the Gods for that. Other than them, though, he didn't really see much else of interest.

_Oh, and what's _that _guy doing here?_

His head snapped around, like a hound hunting for a trail. Although, that was more of Eyes-Of-Silver's job, really. _Where?_

_To the right, by the half of the pool, between the two pillars, on the move._

A male figure clad in brown leathers caught his eye, right where Treads-In-Gloom had told him. He was marching close to the wall with brisk, purposeful steps. Most curious thing of all, he was armed, and nobody did a thing to stop him. He was trying to hide it, but there really was no other explanation for how he kept his hand inside of his coat.

A question popped up in Keram-Rei's head: why? No guns were allowed inside of the casino, standing to what the annoying guy at the entrance had said. No way a man in a big leather coat could just say he wasn't armed and get away with it. So, either he'd sneaked in...

Or he had been allowed inside.

Hah, he'd known something was wrong about this whole place the moment he had set foot inside! Part of him was glad he was right, the other was both annoyed and intrigued at the perspective of another problem to solve.

Screaming-Eagle reached the same conclusion as him. She elbowed his side, pointed at the mysterious man, and started forwards at a slow, deliberate pace. Keram-Rei guessed this guy was heading for the metal door tucked away in the corner of the hall.

He marched ahead of Screaming-Eagle. She tried to hold him in place, but he just shrugged her hand off and went on. She couldn't keep him down with a shady man on the loose, no matter whatever she may come up with to-

She whacked him in the back of the head with her staff. That made for a very convincing argument and a very effective deterrent, so he simply settled for a slower walk towards him. As a side note, it was good to see she didn't employ all of her strength to deliver her blow. A welcome change, although he'd prefer if she didn't hit him at all. Little baby steps.

The figure fought with the handle of the door as they approached. A sign above the entrance read "UNDER MAINTENANCE" in bold red letters. He tried to wrestle with the lock for no more than five seconds; then he knelt down on the floor and pulled a tiny lockpick out of his pocket. A moment or two passed before it clicked open, revealing a small wooden room beyond. Perhaps a non-functional sauna, if the round rocky thing in the middle _not _spewing out steam was any indicator. The man strode inside, finally pulling a silenced pistol from his coat and cocking it ready.

Keram-Rei took a step forwards at once. He groped for his sword, only to curse at himself for not bringing it. As an alternative, he clawed the fingers of both of his hands at his sides, ready to charge up frost spikes. Fire was too flashy, and so was lightning, but nobody was going to notice ice in the-

Screaming-Eagle slapped him. When he shot her a quizzical glance, she scowled at him and shook her head, gesturing at the whole of the bathhouse. "Not in the open, you idiot."

Right, there were some thirty people around, maybe more. Of... of course. Come to think of it, it was a miracle nobody had seen none of them.

_Thank Hermaeus Mora she's around to stop you and hit you whenever you come up with something retarded. You know, I'm starting to like this whole first date business. You two should go out more often. Or maybe not, it was actually a lot of fun when you got trapped inside Cidhna Mine..._

Keram-Rei resisted the urge to snarl. _Two words: fuck off._

They sneaked up near the entrance of the sauna, one at each side of the doorway, waiting for the man to do something. Yet, if he was really working for the White Glove Society and had a permission to carry his weapon, what sort of work required a silenced gun inside a hidden room in a casino?

His eyes widened. Fuck, why hadn't he realized it earlier? He leapt into action, maybe he wasn't too late, maybe-

The man kicked down the wooden door at the end of the room.

A jade bolt lashed at the hitman.

The man stood still as a statue, frozen in the hot air. Well, alright, he toppled a couple of seconds later – still, some statues did that, too. When he fell, however, his body didn't relax. He remained in the exact same position; pistol leveled, snarling pale face frozen in a sneer, posture as firm as a professional killer's. Even his dark clothes and hair didn't move.

Screaming-Eagle strolled inside, closing the door behind her back. She met his eyes in the old, hostile way he'd learned to like so much, and pointed at the body with a snort. "Couldn't you just wait for me to handle it?"

"He could've killed somebody." Keram-Rei stubbornly replied. He folded his arms across his chest, and set his brows into a scowl of his own. "I didn't know how you were going to play this, how about you tell me what you want to do next time?"

"Oh, sure, I will readily give you a detailed plan I made on the fly to put in action in the next thirty seconds." Screaming-Eagle spat back, narrowing her eyes even further. She thrust the bottom of her staff against the wooden ground and bared her fangs. "Do you even think before you speak, Keram-Rei?"

He couldn't deny, she was fascinating when she was mad at him, when she focused so much on a way to make him realize how bad some of his ideas were. He didn't even mind it, to be honest. He had gotten used to her attitude in those ten days. If only she showed her other side more often, the curious, cute, shy one...

"THE FUCK?!"

Keram-Rei shared a brief, quizzical look with Screaming-Eagle, effectively putting an end to their short-lived argument. The shout reminded them that if an assassin had been sent to an unused sauna, chances were good he was there to kill someone.

The victim stood in the doorway to what had all the looks of a boiler room. The man had dark skin, short black hair, and brown eyes – a Redguard, basically, if the concept of race on Earth weren't so different from that on Nirn. He was about a couple of inches shorter than Keram-Rei, and he appeared to be scared out of his mind, both sweating and swearing profusely.

His eyes darted between them and the paralyzed killer. He let out a strangled scream, stepped back into the boiler room. "Fuck, fuck, _fuck_!"

"Relax, we re not going to kill you." Keram-Rei sighed, waving him off. The words appeared to do absolute jackshit to calm him down, maybe different phrasing was needed, along with a slower approach. "We are the ones who stopped that guy from killing you, there is nothing to worry about."

The man's attempts to merge into the wall slowly came to a halt, and his breathing began to resemble more that of a human and less that of a chased rabbit. He closed his eyes, rubbing at them and wiping the sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand. "Man, _damn_ that was close... thanks, I guess, whatever the hell you are."

Keram-Rei blocked off the obvious question with a raised hand. "I'm Keram-Rei, she's Screaming-Eagle, and before you ask, let's just say we're a long way from home."

"Oh, ah... alright." The man chortled, audibly relieved. He ran a hand through his hair, straightened his black jacket and white shirt...

"Who are you, and why are you here?"

Screaming-Eagle all but shoved him aside with her demands. She appeared to his left, a hand on her hip, and staff planted firmly into a small grate.

"Name's Chauncey, and let's just say someone wants me dead." The man told them. He leaned against the wall he was trying to pass through earlier, and let himself flop on a small metal chair. "I knew this was going to happen, sooner or later..." He blinked, as though he'd suddenly realized something. "Wait, what did you do to-"

"Complete paralysis, it will last for an hour." Screaming-Eagle interrupted him, folding her arms across her chest. "Why would anyone want you dead?"

"Because I'm one of the few people in the Ultra-Luxe who hasn't gone nuts, that's why!" Chauncey blurted out. He drew in a deep breath, and shook his head. "Sorry, not your fault. Anyway, it's a... long story."

Screaming-Eagle rolled her eyes as her fingers rapped against her staff's tip. "We're in no rush, and neither is your friend."

"Well, here goes nothing..." Chauncey huffed under his breath. He propped his elbows on his knees, interlaced his fingers. "The White Glove Society weren't always all that refined. We weren't what we are now. Years ago, before House took over the Strip, we... we used to be cannibals."

Keram-Rei felt his guts twisting. Cannibals? He'd tracked down at least a dozen cults of Namira all over Tamriel, but... fuck, no matter how many times he'd seen them, he still couldn't get used to the thought. It was... wrong, it was deviant and perverse on so many gods-damned levels it made him nauseous every time he heard about cannibalism. How could anyone even _think_ about killing people and eating them?

_It's not really your place to talk, is it?_

His jaw clenched, his fists balled up. His blood began to boil in his veins. _It wasn't me, it was _you_, you twisted fuck!_

_Whatever! Who gives a shit, it doesn't matter. They were dead anyway, at least their bodies didn't go to waste that way. True, they tasted funny, and the grime and that pinch of radiation sort of spoiled the taste..._

"Cannibals?" Screaming-Eagle whispered in shock. He heard her swallow hard, almost as if to digest the idea. "The White Glove Society is..."

"Going back to the old ways, yes." Chauncey confirmed grimly, loosening his bowtie to better breathe in the humid air. "First, it was just Mortimer and Philippe and their lackeys, kidnapping the homeless off the streets of Freeside. Then things got worst – they started with tourists on the Strip. Hell, they even got to hotel guests!"

Keram-Rei started growling. He stared into the man's eyes, leaned forwards to tower over him. "How did two people corrupt an entire society?"

"It happened over two weeks ago... I'm glad I just wasn't there." Chauncey muttered. His tone dropped, he lowered his head and looked down to the ground. "They kidnapped Ted Gunderson, the son of Heck Gunderson, our main supplier of brahmin meat. Mortimer thought that by tricking the others into eating human flesh, he'd win them back... and it worked." He shook his head. "Our leader Marjorie was forced to accept out of shame for what the White Glove Society had done. Most of us rolled with it, enjoyed it even. It was just me and a few others who didn't like it... I'm supposed to be the head of this group." He let out a bitter chuckle, nudging at the paralyzed killer with his shoe. "You saw how that turned out."

"Oh, for the love of the Nine Divines!" Screaming-Eagle finally snapped, slamming her staff to the ground and startling both of them. She all but howled in frustration before speaking again. "Why is the only decent place in this cesspool run by cannibals, of all people?"

Chauncey looked up at them. He rubbed his chin and raised a brow. "Well, since I'm not dead, and you happen to be here... maybe we could change things." He gestured at them with a grimace. "Problem is, you're a little too... _noticeable_."

"I can work on that." Screaming-Eagle retorted with a smirk. "Disguises aren't going to be a problem."

Keram-Rei found himself grinning. With this, it would be thirteen cannibal sects, and a problem less in the Mojave. "If you've got a plan, let's hear it."

* * *

Nope, he hadn't missed it one bit.

Keram-Rei – no, sorry, _Kevin Gray_ stalked the corridor at _Samantha Eagle_'s side. His red hair, and beard, and pretty much everything itched as though he'd run around in a nettle field. Naked. He had no fucking idea how she managed to keep calm. Oh, well, life was easy for her. She was wearing one of those sleeveless pink dresses and her legs and arms looked clean shaved, while he was trapped in a fucking three-layer black tuxedo in a hallway with no air conditioning. She even got a sweet cane to mask her staff, how unfair was that?

There was a silver lining to it all, at least. They both wore the same mask, so he was free to scrunch up his face in vexation without anyone telling him shit – no matter he could hardly breathe behind it. Besides, with Screaming-Eagle as a human and wearing that generous neckline, he didn't really mind.

This part of the Ultra-Luxe was clearly not meant to be visited by the hotel's guests. The neon lights were far too underpowered to light the greasy walls and checkered tile floor, both of which he reckoned had seen better days. Rusty pipes hung from the ceiling, going through small grates over the different metal doors that lead to closets, storerooms or the three kitchens. They had already passed the first two, both huge and empty. The angry shouts coming from further down the hallway, along with the light seeping through an open door on their right, marked their destination.

It was exactly like Chauncey had said.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" A man shouted as they approached. His voice had an edge of superiority, disdain and supreme annoyance to it. It had to be him. "Do you think the world waits for you while you wait there drooling?" Something metal crashed to the ground. "Get back here and get the fuck back to work!"

_You know, he sort of sounds like me, some time around the Third Era. I cut it after a while though, living corpses don't really get upset._

"Then fuck you!" Another man roared. This time, glass shattered. "Fuck you and your 'perfect cuisine', I hope you fucking choke on the shit you call royal food!"

A moment later, the door was kicked open by a cook. He had to be one, if the white apron he tore from his neck and threw away was anything to go by. He crumpled his toque in his fist with a snort. Even in the penumbra, his wild blonde hair and the lines of anger on his forehead were plain to see.

"I can't fucking believe it!" He snapped at Keram-Rei, arms open wide. "How am I supposed to work with that goddamn asshole? You're from the casino staff, of course you don't know - you try and tell me! I'm out of here."

With that, he took Keram-Rei's hand and put the toque in it before he shouldered his way past the two of them, followed by a long string of curses. Screaming-Eagle turned towards him with a quizzical air; he just shrugged and went on.

Keram-Rei was the first to enter the kitchen. Unlike the rest of the underground section, it was brightly illuminated by white neon tubes. Various steel gray fridges and stoves lined the walls, while above them hung wooden cupboards and cabinets. Everything looked cramped in the small kitchen – if Chauncey hadn't been kidding, the chef had been so much of a dick about his 'art' the White Gloves had refitted a storage to be his own realm, so that he could leave the rest of the cooks in peace. At first, he hadn't bought it. Now that he saw the actual size, it sounded very likely.

A wide assortment of kitchenware, utilities and items rested just about everywhere around the room. Most of it had been put in regular places, like on top of the counters or by the sinks. A few pots and shattered dishes rested on the floor, though, next to... something wet, and bright red. Some kind of meat, maybe?

The only man in there flung a frying pan inside of an open fridge. He vented off the rest of his rage by kicking at the pot on the ground, then raised his eyes to look at the two. His forehead was about as large as an inn's counter, and the little black hair he still possessed clung onto his skull for dear life. He had small brown eyes and an even smaller nose, as opposed to his enormous mouth. All of those features were twisted by primal rage and hatred towards every living being ever to have tread on this Earth, so it was no surprise his face turned from scarlet to aubergine.

_Holy fuck, how can a guy so tiny shout so loud if nobody's torturing him?_

Keram-Rei could only agree. This man had to be what, five feet tall? And people were scared of _him_, the asshole known as the brilliant chef Philippe. Damn, was it hard to keep a straight face when presented with this guy.

"The fuck do you want?!" Philippe screamed at both of them with an equal amount of fury. The veins on his neck threatened to pop at each intake of breath. "Tell Mortimer his fucking grand dinner's gonna have to wait, goddammit!"

"Well, Mr. Philippe, Mr. Mortimer was more concerned with the state of the... main course." Screaming-Eagle told him, her voice calm and monotone like one of the faceless White Gloves'. "Does he yet live?"

"Of course he fucking does!" Philippe snarled as he banged his fist against the counter. His whole body shook with violence and poor self-restraint. Steam was going to spew out of his ears any second now. "He's still in the refrigerator! What, you think I kill him and he magically turns into your dinner? Fuck you, I won't rush it, the process is too delicate and that dick of a 'great chef' hasn't helped!"

Screaming-Eagle gave him a courteous bow, her brown hair flowing over her shoulders like a cascade of silk. "Thank you, Mr. Philippe. It was all we needed to know."

Keram-Rei smiled behind his mask. "In this case, I'm afraid you're fired."

"_What?!_" Philippe bellowed in disbelief. Five feet of condensed wrath focused on the ceiling in another fit, eyes closed to better concentrate on how loud he had to scream. "I cannot fucking believe how two little shits like you have the goddamn nerve to come in here and tell me I'm-"

The chef's teeth bit down onto a suppressor. A couple of his incisors cracked, and his eyes widened in panic. Strange not to see him yell like a madman, for once. Actually, the lack of shouts was a very welcome change. Best thing about it, it was going to be permanent.

Keram-Rei pulled the trigger.

Muffled by both the suppressor and Philippe's mouth, the gunshot couldn't have been heard outside of the kitchen. The body dropped to the ground onto the broken plate, blood pooling quickly underneath the man's neck. As Keram-Rei shook the ichor and saliva from the pistol, Screaming-Eagle tore her mask off and vanished inside of the nearby room.

He stared at the chef with barely any feeling. Philippe had been a cannibal, a kidnapper, one of the minds behind the monstrous changes inside of the Ultra-Luxe _and_ a colossal dick. There wasn't much he could be sorry about. This man hadn't been forced by society, circumstances or anyone else to become what he was: he had been wealthy, had worked exactly where he wanted, and he'd considered everyone to be insects crawling at his feet. If anything, he was almost happy this guy was dead.

_Nice job buddy, you're a stone cold killer. I'm proud of you._

_Oh, shut up already._ Keram-Rei growled, grimacing. He took off his mask and left it on the nearby counter. _I'm not like that._

_Yeah, sure thing... how many people have you killed, Keram-Rei? Dozens? Nah, I bet it was more like hundreds. Not to mention, you've caused thousands more to die – you know, you were sort of a big deal in the Imperial Legion, _and_ the motherfucking Dragonborn. How many of those deaths were unnecessary, huh? Let's keep it recent: the guards in the Vault. You could have ended it peacefully, but you didn't._

Keram-Rei let out a long, slow breath. He was trying his patience. _I know. You think I'm proud of all the people I've killed? No, but at least I can say I _think_ about what I've done every once in a while. You enjoyed each kill. Now fuck off._

… _You're such a fucking buzzkill, it's not even funny anymore. Vegas ruined you._

He chuckled grimly, and leaned against the counter. He wanted the gun close, so he put it near the mask, to his right. He ripped off his bowtie, struggled out of the black jacket, and unbuttoned the shirt's neck and sleeves. Fuck, how come humans always sweated so much? It was unbelievable. Now that his skin could breathe a little and the first part of the plan was almost over, he could finally have a breather before enacting the second part.

"Keram-Rei!" Screaming-Eagle called from the attached storage.

… Or maybe he couldn't, great.

First things first, he grabbed the silenced pistol, because it might have come in handy. Only then did he follow his date's voice into a tiny room with shelves on three of the walls. A heavy metal door stood open on the fourth, to the left from the entrance, closed and with Screaming-Eagle waiting by a terminal at its side.

Keram-Rei raised a brow. "Is something wrong?"

"Remember Chauncey's words." Screaming-Eagle scolded him. She was still all sorts of attractive, even when masked as a member of another species. "We have to be there together, it will be easier to get him out."

Keram-Rei shrugged, motioning for her to open the door with a flick of his wrist.

Screaming-Eagle gave him a single nod. She placed her palm on the heavy slab of metal, while she drew symbols in the air with her cane. Yokudan ideograms, she'd called them. A curious way to do magic, but hey, it worked better than his anyway. Her hand went to the hinges, first the top one, then the bottom one. The steel grew red-hot in a matter of seconds. Before the hinges melted away, she followed the same procedure where the bolt had to be located.

She took a step back – like he did, just to be safe – and braced herself. She traced larger ideograms this time, with broader, more violent strokes. At last, she poked at the door, and went back into the kitchen.

Keram-Rei wasted no time doing the same thing. No good first date ended with him being crushed under a giant door.

She took her staff in both hands, closing her eyes. Then she pointed at the heavy door, planted her feet, and pulled all the way to the right.

The blast door came down onto the tiled floor as though Malacath himself had struck it with his hammer. He felt the force of the impact spread from the cracked tiles up his shoes and legs. He wasn't too sure the White Gloves weren't going to notice it this time, so he just had to trust Chauncey's words.

Keram-Rei edged past Screaming-Eagle into the storeroom – that was when the chilly air hit him. The entrance to the refrigerator had to be as cold as Solitude's winters, it was like a door back to Skyrim. He cursed under his breath for having ditched his jacket, but strode inside the dark cell nevertheless. Bovine quarters hung from hooks on the ceiling, where grates pumped in the freezing mist and kept the temperature low enough for food to be conserved. Various cuts of meat sat on the shelves, although he didn't immediately recognize them, perhaps they were native of the Mojave. One form he recognized all too well, though.

There, huddling in the corner, he saw a man.

He was still in his fancy gray suit and red tie, half-frozen to death. He was shivering, badly, in desperate need of heat. Judging by the pepper-and-salt hair and short beard encrusted with ice crystals, he had to be middle-aged. A little overweight, but otherwise he looked fine. It really had to be someone important, he couldn't have gotten fat in a post-nuclear wasteland without the money and the chance. His dull gray eyes followed them get inside of the room, and he feebly shook his head, waving them off. "No, go... go away..."

"Reynolds?" Keram-Rei asked with decision as he walked closer to him. The man's eyes met his, with something approaching hope sparkling in them. "Edmond Reynolds, representative of the Gun Runners on the New Vegas Strip?"

Mr. Reynolds stared at them for a moment. "Who... are you?"

"Not who you think we are." Screaming-Eagle told him, kneeling by his side. She placed her hand on his forehead, his wrists, his heart; when she was satisfied, she did the same with her cane. "Hmm, frostbite hasn't quite kicked in yet. We need to get him out of here."

"On it." Keram-Rei grunted. He dropped to his haunches and wrapped the man's arm over his shoulder. Screaming-Eagle, who couldn't have possibly lifted twenty pounds without magical aid, decided to help anyway. "And... now!"

Okay, this guy was a lot heavier than he looked. Not a good thing he wasn't wearing Deathbrand's Stalhrim armor, either. Still, they managed to bring him to his feet. Reynolds wobbled at first, yet gave them as much help as he could in shambling outside, around the fallen door and into the kitchen.

"My God..." He gasped at the sight of Philippe's body, shocked. "You... you killed him..."

"Yep, and he's not going to be missed." Keram-Rei laughed as they eased him onto the ground, propping him against the nearest stoves.

Mr. Reynolds let out a sigh of relief in the hot air. He sat more comfortably in his position, and sketched a smile, his teeth still beating together. "Th-thank you, whoever you are..."

Keram-Rei cracked a couple of his vertebrae after the effort, just to set them straight again. After that, he looked at Screaming-Eagle. "Do it."

Screaming-Eagle drew a single rune on the air in front of Edmond Reynolds. The movements were slow, smooth, almost hypnotic. The man only had the time to frown at it. As a last touch, she rested the tip of her cane on his forehead. He closed his eyes, his features relaxed, and he fell asleep in an instant.

A second after that, he felt the familiar fabric of his tunic against his scales, the blessing of a body more than comfortable with the hot air, the weight of his Pip-Boy on his left forearm. He massaged his jaw and tail, then raised a pensive brow at the sleeping man. "Do you think..."

"Chauncey said he was going to handle this, don't worry." Screaming-Eagle dismissed him. She ran a hand through her ruffled brown feathers with a little annoyance, blinking her red eyes. "We managed just in the nick of time, too... the disguise was a minute from fading away. Anyway, there is one last phase now."

Keram-Rei cleared his throat in order to get her to look at him, and shrugged a shoulder. "I'm coming with you, that was the deal. Do you want some help, or...?"

"No." Screaming-Eagle said, irremovable. Her eyes hardened. "I am more than capable of handling it, you are at my side only to spectate and make sure there are no hiccups."

* * *

The White Glove Society's dining room was a secluded hall, most likely unreachable by the hotel guests. There were two entrances: one through the kitchens, the other from some staff-only door half-hidden in a corner. Of course, the exclusivity meant that whatever luxury present anywhere else in the Ultra-Luxe was at least doubled here. Marble floors, mosaics and a vaulted ceiling put it on par with any Cyrodilic palace. Plants as green as if taken from Valenwood itself, intricate carpeting to rival the work of Hammerfell's masters, paintings the likes of which he'd never seen were more than enough to surpass even some mansions in the Imperial City itself.

The dinner table was easily the size of the one at the Lucky 38, if only perfectly straight and carved from exotic wood, light-colored, polished and quite possibly without a match in the Imperial halls. On it ceramic plates, stainless steel cutlery and glasses had been replaced by silver and crystal.

By contrast, the people sitting on their throne-like chairs ranged from impatient to outraged, waving their hands, making gestures and talking to each other in ways that little resembled actual nobility. Most of the men appeared to have used women's cosmetics, while the women wore makeup as thick as the masks resting by their plates. Their murmurs filled the air like the restless buzzing of bees.

Keram-Rei ducked behind his cover once again – which is to say, a large red-and-black terracotta vase depicting naked warriors. He eyed Screaming-Eagle, who was intent on... controlling her breath, apparently. "There's seventeen of them, all the seats are occupied, and the only exit I can see is on the left." He whispered, cocking his nine millimeter ready. "Are we good to go?"

In the way of a reply, Screaming-Eagle flattened him against the vase to have a better look at the room. She scanned it for about five seconds, went back into cover and hummed. She made exactly six movements with her index fingers, culminating into a little motion of her staff.

Even this far from the door, he heard the lock clacking. The murmurs came to an end.

_This brings back so many memories you wouldn't even _believe_ it!_

Screaming-Eagle turned towards him and nodded. "Now we are good to go."

Keram-Rei rose to his feet, gun in hand, and walked out of cover as confidently as he could manage. Screaming-Eagle followed him close by. Seventeen pairs of eyes stared at them, dumbstruck, shocked, horrified. Nobody had been expecting anything other than a few waiters ready to serve them Edmond Reynolds on a silver platter.

The two of them stopped ten feet away from the table. All those who couldn't see them had already turned their heads to look in disconcert at the two creatures. They had to seem so frightening, so... alien. Screaming-Eagle began drawing the runes for her spell, as though none of them were worthy of her attention.

He, on the other hand, took a step forwards and bowed at the small crowd frozen on their impressively carved chairs. No doubt some of the White Gloves had already soiled their majestic wood. "Sorry, but I'm afraid your dinner's still alive and kicking. He's gonna be fine. The same can't be said of you."

The man opposite of him stood up. He had to be well over six feet tall, and scowled at him with cold, measured fury – nothing at all like Philippe. He was balding, yet his short hair was just as immaculate as his mustache. His dark eyes had an intelligent spark to them, they suggested plans and schemes he couldn't even begin to appreciate; they shared the same rational insanity of Vulpes Inculta's. It could only be Mortimer, the de facto leader of the White Glove Society, who snorted at their appearance like he would have at two lame jesters. "What is the meaning of this travesty?"

"The meaning is, you're all fucking cannibals and we're not okay with that." Keram-Rei snarled back at him, his feathers raised, his fangs bared. He lifted his gun with both hands and aimed it square at Mortimer's chest. He understood now, if the way he raised his hands and swallowed was anything to go by. "But don't worry, we're going to fix that soon. Starting now."

Even though his aim with a handgun could only be called mildly indecent at best, hitting a target less than fifteen feet away was well within his capabilities.

He pulled the trigger a first time. Despite the suppressor, the gun still barked like an angry dog. The kick jolted back through his arms and up to his shoulders. Mortimer barely had the time to groan in pain at the bullet in his ribs before three more hit him in the sternum, guts and neck, red stains blossoming across his white button-up shirt and his jacket. He fell back down into his chair without a sound, and his head lolled down onto his chest.

As the remaining sixteen White Gloves screamed and tried to flee, he shot at the ceiling twice to stop them dead in their tracks. "You stay where you are!" He shouted, waving the nine millimeter to encompass the survivors. All of them sat back down, most whimpering, some crying. "You're all dead men and women now, don't move and we're going to make this quick!"

A third gunshot into the overhanging crystal chandelier made sure they complied.

When the smell of ozone reached his nostrils, he knew he had to step aside.

Screaming-Eagle took three steps forwards before she came to a halt. Malevolent light flashed and cracked on the tip of her staff like a condensed thunderstorm, the crystals gleaming and the chains rattling. She extended her free hand, her posture firm and austere as a statue, and glared at the White Gloves with disdain. "Cannibals, deviants, monsters." She pronounced. Her voice betrayed no feeling, no emotion. "None of the Divines shall accept you, the Daedric Princes shall shun you. Even foul Namira, Lady of Decay and Prince of Ancient Darkness, shall refuse your souls, for your heinous acts of cannibalism have been perpetrated not in her name, but your own." She planted her staff, as definitive as a bell's toll. "In the name of Stendarr, God of Righteous Might and Merciful Forbearance, I hereby sentence you to death."

Lightning arced from her hand. Thunder roared across the hall as it clawed and gripped at the White Gloves. The crack of their bones could be heard as they spasmed atop their heavy chairs, their flesh sizzled and smoked as the bolts scarred their skin, wood and hair alike caught fire under the heat.

Then, just as it had started, it was gone. The sixteen men and women slumped, their bodies still twitching and convulsing in death. The smell of burned meat... hadn't he been so used to it, Keram-Rei would have gagged. Now, however, he couldn't bring himself to think about it.

Through it all, Screaming-Eagle hadn't said one thing. Not a word, not even now. She just watched the corpses for a moment, and closed her eyes. She drew in a deep breath, then let it out, slowly. She appeared to be in... meditation?

Man, _fuck_. Cold-blooded and merciless didn't even come close to describe what she had just done. Of course, he would have done the same with those cannibals, just... it wasn't for the deaths, it was the sentence that had gotten to him. That was fucked up, there was no going around it.

_Not... much else I can say, either._

She turned on her heel. She motioned for him to follow her back to the kitchens, and he did. Wouldn't want to make her angry after what she'd done.

Keram-Rei cast one last glance back over his shoulder, and fell into step at her side. He'd already seen her raging before – and this just didn't cut it, it wasn't anger. It had been like Eyes-Of-Silver and Vulpes Inculta, only on a larger scale and with no chance of fighting back. Fuck, it wasn't even close to what he'd done to Philippe, at least he had enjoyed that in some measure. This had been just a cold, plain execution.

"I understand you may need an explanation." Screaming-Eagle broke the silence, and cleared her throat. It sounded very human and awkward, clashing harshly with what she had just done. "I... used to be a Vigilant of Stendarr, for some time."

"No kidding." Keram-Rei chuckled, shaking his head. It was the only thing he could do not to grimace. Yet, they had accomplished something, and his optimistic side kicked in. "Well, look at the bright side: we tried to go out for a walk, and we ended up destroying a cell of cannibals and making New Vegas a better place."

"So it would seem." Screaming-Eagle commented, shrugging. She wasn't even looking at him.

Keram-Rei paused for a moment, not quite sure of what to say. He just sighed, and ran a hand through his feathers. "Ah, who am I kidding, we turned it into some sort of secret operation and fucked it up. It was supposed to be a..."

_Romantic first date in which you hoped she would invite you to her quarters to spend the night with her? Come on, we both know you want to fuck her._

"A _diversion_." Keram-Rei concluded, opening the door back to the stairs and into kitchen. He said one word of that, he was as good as dead. "Just... you weren't in a good mood, and I thought it would have been nice to take you somewhere calm to relax." He let out a sound somewhere between a snort, a sigh and a chuckle. "Look how _that_ turned out. So much for the diversion..."

"No, absolutely, I would say it was quite an interesting diversion indeed." Screaming-Eagle reassured him with a little laugh. "This certainly beats gloomy thoughts and powerless desperation at the thought of never coming back home again. At least we _did _something, yes?"

Keram-Rei blinked his eyes, then frowned deeply. He turned his head to her to see if she was joking. She couldn't possibly be teasing him like that, that would have been cruel. He tried to help her, and-

He didn't find any grin in the feeble neon light of the kitchen hallways. What he did find, however, was a tiny, coy smile plastered across her red scales. Screaming-Eagle was chewing on her lower lip, and met his eyes for the briefest of moments. "Would you... mind doing it again sometime?"


	26. The Thief and the Doctor

The sun was shining in the blue skies above Freeside, without a cloud in sight. The Old Mormon Fort was abuzz as usual; the Followers walked to and fro in order to tend to their patients, the mercenaries at the entrance played cards, remarkably few of the ill and addicts moaned or ranted. The heat made sure the smell of old medical supplies and trash mixed up horrifically with the other aromas from the outside – the people there were simply used to it, though, and didn't pay it much heed.

In all that, Naeera stared at the gray canvas ceiling and sighed. There was nothing for her to do there, and there hadn't been for two days. Just moving boxes, making friends with those Followers who didn't want to split her open to poke at her guts, and trying not to be seen by too many people at once. That was what Julie had told her: if she got outside of the Fort without the good citizens of Freeside knowing she existed, chances were high they would shoot her. She could have always gone back to the Lucky 38, wait for word of her to spread, but... eh, at least here she had a close base to go back to from her 'walks'. In those two (technically three) nights, she had averted ten muggings, four murders, and seven rapes. She kept herself busy at night.

During the day? Not so much.

She lay sprawled on the only bunk in Arcade's tent, her feet hanging from the edge and well clear of the mattress. He had been very specific about the exact distance her talons had to stay from his belongings. She couldn't really remember how many inches it was, but fuck it, so long as she didn't rip his stuff up he was going to be good. It wasn't too easy with the two low, long shelves overloaded with books standing by the walls, at the headboard and at the end of the bed. Made of steel as they may have been, she guessed it was only a matter of time before they collapsed under the weight of all those trinkets and printed paper.

As for the good doctor himself, he was currently at his old and battered desk, sitting on his creaky and cheap wooden chair, reading a book. He had abandoned the alchemical experiments he had been working on the moment a blue and a red liquid he'd mixed turned purple. She didn't really know what other color he was expecting from that, but hey, if he said he wanted yellow or transparent, maybe something _had_ gone wrong after all.

Hot and bored, she let out another sigh. "Arcade?"

The Follower didn't notice her. She was about to call his name louder when he turned the page and huffed. "What is it, Naeera?"

"What are you reading?" Naeera asked. It was the first thing that had come to mind, and her only hope of breaking the monotony.

"A fantasy book." Arcade told her, distracted. Sounded like he was quite taken by it. "With magic, monsters, peasants and adventures."

Yeah, sure, _fantasy_. That had been her life up to less than two weeks ago; and it still was, technically. However, she remembered the general outline of the conversation with the NCR officers, and if she mentioned magic now, she was pretty much fucked – so she didn't. Instead, she just hummed in vague interest. "Are there any Dragons?"

A few seconds and a paragraph passed before she got a grunt in reply. "No, there are no dragons."

Naeera rolled her eyes. _Of course_ there weren't any Dragons. And if there had been, chances were good they weren't depicted as she intended them. Maybe they would have been like those weird things with four legs and wings on the back. How could those even _fly_? "Sounds boring."

"It is _not_ boring." Arcade immediately replied, miffed by her statement. "It is the tale of a man taken from his world and dragged into another, the complete opposite of his own, in which he is considered to be the chosen one."

"Oh?" Naeera managed, raising a brow and sitting up. She stared at the man's back as though she could bore through him and have a look at the book. That tale was all too familiar to her. "Now _that_ sounds interesting. Who's this guy?"

The healer's shoulders slumped. He shook his head and drew in a deep breath. "I'm trying to read, Naeera."

She was about to fall back again with a groan. Instead, she smiled broadly. Well, there wasn't much she could think about doing, except... well, Arcade was always chill in the extreme, the calmest of the calm. Never had anyone made him mad, or had he laughed out loud, or showed any strong emotion, really. He was just mild-mannered, sarcastic, curious, and an all-round good, peaceful and _boring _fellow.

She made it her daily objective to make him lose his cool.

Naeera scratched up and dragged the dirt by the bunk with slow, relaxed movements of her feet. She cleared her throat and folded her arms across her chest. "Is he called John?"

"No." Arcade huffed. He sat up straighter in his chair, which creaked at the motion. "No, his name isn't John."

"Hmm... is it James?" She tried again, tapping her fingers across her jawline as loudly as possible. "Or maybe Jack? Will? Hector?"

"No, no, no and no." He sighed out. Still, he turned another page with great restraint. Keram-Rei would have started shouting by now. Screaming-Eagle would have killed her outright. "If you are all that interested in his name, and his name only, he is called Thomas."

Naeera grinned impishly. "Thomas what?"

"Covenant." Arcade said briskly. Ah-ha, not quite the brusque answer yet, but easy does it. "Thomas Covenant the Unbeliever, a leper, and I have managed to purchase the whole ten-book saga five days ago for a hundred caps. That was a third of my savings." He chuffed out a vaguely impatient breath. "I have just started reading it, so my knowledge is limited and I can answer very few questions."

"Got it." She reassured him, going so far as to nod a couple of times even though he couldn't see her. She suppressed any attempt to giggle as she settled back onto the bed. "Man, being a leper must suck, don't you think?"

She heard him suck air through his teeth and shift on his chair again. "I have never met one, but yes, I believe it does. Now, if you don't mind, would you please stop asking me questions, Naeera?"

There went half of her ways to hinder his progress through the book. She was enjoying it thus far. Who knew, maybe he was going to snap at her before lunch.

Naeera clacked her tongue, fidgeted with her belt and pouch, rapped her talons against the shelves' metal ledges. The noise was quick, loud, and it was assured to get on his nerves before long. She didn't want to wait too much, though. She wanted to see how long it took to make him drop that book, for a change.

She bit down a giggle, then waited a few seconds in silence. "I lockpicked your footlocker tonight."

Her eardrums were graced by the sound of a book slamming closed, and a chair creaking. Still no yells, though. Not _yet_."You did _what_?"

"The lock was pretty weak, wasn't much of a challenge." Naeera continued with nonchalance, grinning. "Arcade, Gods know you're weirder than most people I've ever met, but you've got a good taste when it comes to men. I like them buffer, though." She raised a playful brow. "Don't suppose you've got another magazine like those around here? Using the same one twice gets boring."

She turned to lay on her side to better admire his expression. There he was, his chair positioned to face her, his glare somewhere between outraged, pissed and disgusted, and his glasses resting down on the tip of his nose.

Just before he exploded, someone pulled aside the flaps at the entrance.

Naeera's grin vanished as Julie Farkas entered the tent. Of all the moments she could have chosen, _that _wasn't the right one. Her mohawk was a brighter shade of red today – not too much, but definitely a little flashier. Her green eyes first settled on the thief's sensual pose, then on Arcade's expression, and her caring mom's smile showed up with just the right amount of amusement. "Have I... interrupted something?"

Arcade pushed his glasses over his forehead and wiped at his face with his palm with a loud, relieved sigh. "Oh, thank goodness you have."

Julie raised a brow at his sentence, only for her to chuckle once. "Anyway, I was hoping you could help me with a problem."

Naeera sat up right at once, her eyes sparkling at the many implications the word 'problem' brought. Most of them could have required leaving the Fort. "What problem?"

"Oh, _that_ problem." Arcade apparently realized. He pulled his glasses back into place and shook his head. "Look, Julie, I've already told you I'm not that convincing-"

"I know." Julie cut him off with a solemn nod. "That's why Naeera's coming with you."

Naeera's only reaction was a broad beam, as opposed to Arcade's stunned silence. She resisted the urge to clap her hands, got her beam in check, and cleared her throat. "Excuse me, _what_ problem are we talking about here?"

"Well, simply put, we are low on supplies." Julie told her. Her motherly smile faded a bit. "We earn nothing from what we do, and most of the donations go to paying the guards and buying medicines... and medicines can be very expensive, especially if bought from caravans or wandering doctors. That's why we need someone to talk to a few local merchants and try to strike a deal, so that maybe we can convince them to help us out."

She was going to be let out of the Old Mormon Fort? Fuck yeah she was – _finally_.

Arcade snorted his doubt. "And how exactly do you think a humanoid reptile is going to help me convince _anyone_?"

"That's not a problem." Naeera waved him off, still smiling. "I can be very persuasive when I want to."

Julie looked at her with a mixture of pride, happiness and hope. "In this case, I believe that settles it. But please, stay safe."

* * *

Naeera took in the unfamiliar part of Freeside with a faint frown. True, daylight could change her perspective of the city, but she had never been there, not even at night. This place was entirely new to her. Most buildings had shed their facade away only to leave their support beams behind and bits of concrete or bricks hanging on, mainly lying in piles as tall as Eyes-Of-Silver on the sidewalks. Those few that hadn't become skeletons simply _weren't_ _there_. This place managed to look like the bad part of a shantytown's slums. She'd never seen anything like this.

Of course, they had passed through some familiar places first. Mick &amp; Ralph she had recognized almost at once, so close it was to the Old Mormon Fort. It had a big neon sign lit even during the day because of some malfunction, a kid crier hanging around at the corner of the street, and two owners called... well, Mick and Ralph. A black-haired, clean-shaved guy and a blonde with a goatee, respectively. She'd seen it a thousand times during her nights out. Despite the great number of customers at all hours suggesting otherwise, they couldn't give them much help. Instead, the two shopkeepers thought they might have better luck somewhere by the Silver Rush store and not too far from the King's place. It was a casino called the 'Atomic Wrangler', which seconded as a bar and a brothel. Arcade had agreed that the alcohol they could use as a disinfectant, while the various chemicals the owners produced might have been helpful for a whole lot of other purposes, from medicines to painkillers and... maybe antibiotics?

That had been somewhere decent, though, where somewhat lively people unnervingly stared at her for the whole time, be they men, women, children, old people, junkies, _an__yone_. Here the crowd was nowhere to be seen, only a few shady figures by the alleys and one or two hobos gazing at her from their cardboard boxes. She didn't spot any Follower, not one of them – and they were damn _everywhere, _helping the poor and the needy on any street of Freeside; but not here. She only spotted a trio of Kings a few streets ahead. They were rapidly retreating back into the 'good' part of Freeside, and... well, it looked like they carried rifles instead of the usual pistols or submachine guns. That didn't reassure her in the slightest.

She focused back on Arcade, who walked by her side in blissful ignorance, and cleared her throat. "Are you sure the Atomic Wrangler's around here?"

"No, simply because it isn't." Arcade answered, shrugging. His calm as he formulated his response irked her to no end. "We're taking a shortcut."

Naeera stared at him for a second longer before she stopped dead in her tracks. This time, she glared at him. "Is that a fancy way of telling me you got _lost_?"

"What? No!" He puffed out and waved her off, like a big dog too kind to bark at the kid pestering him. "I hardly ever leave the Old Mormon Fort, that is true. But I _live_ in Freeside, and I have been for a few years now – I'm telling you, we're almost there."

"Yeah, whatever..." She whispered under her breath, hurrying after him to match his pace. Then, a thought hit her. "Wait, is this the dark part of town? The one that starts a couple of blocks behind the Kings' building?"

Arcade gave her an approving nod and a little smile. "Exactly. There, you see, now you're starting to... wait a minute." This time, it was his turn to scowl at her. "If you were supposed to stay at the Fort, how on Earth would you _know_?"

Oh, for fuck's sake.

Naeera raised a hand in her defense. She opened her mouth to reply, answered his scowl with one of her own, and-

A girl screamed.

Why did everyone in Freeside always have to interrupt her?

"I'm explaining later!" Naeera shouted as she kicked off. She didn't even look back to see if he was following her. Someone needed her help, and she was damn well going to deliver. No time to wait for his slow ass.

The echo wasn't as messed up as the rest of Freeside, thanks to the notable absence of most walls. Tracing the girl wasn't too hard. She darted into a narrow street to her right and, as soon as she spotted what looked like two figures struggling, she bolted ahead. The closer she got, the more she could make out their features: a short, young woman, her brown hair flailing wildly as she wriggled. The assailant, on the other hand, was as tall as Arcade, and entirely bald.

He dragged her off into an alley.

The girl only grew more desperate. "Help! Help me!"

Naeera grit her teeth, vaulting over a pair of crashed wrecks. _Motherfucker!_ She snarled to herself. Her feet barely made any noise on the rusted hulks or the asphalt. The heat of the sun meant nothing to her, her blood would have boiled and bubbled under her scales even in the frozen tundra. Her hands slipped to her hips, to her dagger's hilts. He wasn't going to get far, fuck no he wasn't.

She rushed into the alley and unsheathed her Dragonfangs. The space was narrow, dark, and cluttered by rubble and trash cans – a prime spot for criminals who didn't want to be disturbed. The two of them still thrashed against each other beyond a yellow dumpster, by the backdoor of an abandoned building. She started to run again, and-

A man popped up from the dumpster, both arms pointed at her.

His pistol barked once. The sound was so loud in the enclosed space, she almost went deaf. The flash blinded her; she lost her footing, slammed into the wall to her left.

All of her left side burned like one of Solitude's bonfires, and she pressed her right hand tight against the wound – a groan escaped her lips. _Goddamn _if it hurt more that way, but the only lucid part of her that didn't want to skin the gunman alive told her to stop the bleeding first, and only then fuck him up. She did her best not to fall face-first, and used her right arm to try and support herself against the nearest dumpster. Despite her best efforts, she lost her balance and fell into a sitting position.

This time, even though the jolt made her feel like her insides were going to spill out, she managed to hold the shriek down. It wasn't as bad as an arrow, or a knife, but that thought soon faded into curses and howls because it was still _fucking painful_. Her eardrums hurt; she heard only a constant, fading ringing. Any other sound came muffled to her. She'd never been shot before... fuck, she was better off with hearing tales and seeing patients at the Fort. Keram-Rei and Eyes-Of-Silver could keep the first-hand experience. Her breathing became more ragged, less rhythmical. A little voice in the back of her head told her there were no lungs just above her hip. The pain smothered it and shouted back that she was in shock. It wasn't her first time being wounded, although it couldn't be said she was used to it.

She wasn't too far gone not to notice the three people over her, though. She looked up, growling, and recognized the bald rapist, the brown-haired guy with the gun, and the girl – all standing _together_. She blinked her eyes to better focus on them, get the dancing spots away from her sight. The men looked puzzled, the girl leered. All of them wore tattered black leather jackets, and worn brown pants. Some of the patches over the tears were white.

It took her a second or two to realize those three sons of bitches had lured her straight into a trap. Judging by their clothes, she hadn't been the only one to fall into it. Her brain pictured Kings and Followers rushing to a poor girl's aid, only to be killed by the gunman and looted by the trio.

She groaned all of her pain, anger and contempt, just for the sheer need of venting everything and leaving her with a mostly clear mind. Fucking gods-damned bastards and their dirty motherfucking tricks. Even Riften's worst thieves and bandits didn't do that, they retained _some_ decency at least.

"Ain't that a surprise." The young... well, _youngish _woman croaked, crouching in front of her. Her breath smelled of alcohol and sewers. Some of her teeth were missing. She might have been thirty, and she sure as Oblivion did drugs, judging by her bleeding gums. "You's the pet thing from them Followers' place. Fuck, didja fall outta the ugly tree an' hit all th'branches on th'way down?"

Naeera stared straight into her murky, watery blue eyes and bared her fangs. Weren't the pain so distracting and taking so much of her focus and strength away, she would have punched her reeking cunt and stuck her daggers in those eyes. It wasn't like she could get any uglier. "You're dead... all of you. Last mistake, assholes."

"C'mon, stop toyin' wiv' it an' kill it!" The bald man hissed to the gunman as he reared into the wall. Smart guy, he'd actually bought it. She was going to kill him quickly for that. "Get on wiv' it an' smoke it, Clay! I ain't-"

Thunderclap cracked and roared from the entrance of the alley.

She had just the time to see a fist-sized, blazing green fireball hurtle towards the gunman's torso. It burnt straight through the spine and sternum, leaving only a steaming, green-dripping hole where his heart should have been. He fell to his knees with barely a thud.

Naeera didn't waste her opportunity. Heedless of her pain, she grabbed one of her daggers and jammed into the dumbstruck woman's throat, deep enough to lodge it into the vertebrae. She kicked her in the chest for good measure and personal satisfaction, too. Fucking bitch.

The bald man stared at his dead friends in awe and dismay. He let out a horrified screech and turned around, made to run away and escape.

Another green bolt vaporized his head.

Naeera blinked the dazzling flashes out of her eyes, then held her flank tight and moaned her pain. Fuck, she shouldn't have kicked the bitch with her left leg. She grit her teeth, steadied her breathing, and took a moment to look at the carnage. Aside from her unprofessional and extremely stupid handiwork gargling and bleeding out into the concrete, the other two had been perfect kills, nice and clean. Hadn't she been on a losing streak of her own, she wouldn't have attacked the three any other way. Eliminate the immediate threat, open a window for her injured partner, and neutralize the last one with calm.

Maybe without the smell of roasted meat, dry air and lava, while she was at it.

Slow, moderate footsteps caught her attention. She glanced up at her savior and sketched a painful, if sincere, smirk. "Didn't think doctors were so good at killing people."

Arcade pushed his glasses a little farther up the bridge of his nose with a sigh. Down on the ground as she was now, it was the first time she'd noticed the semi-concealed gun hanging from the holster on his hip, hidden by his coat. She knew little in the way of firearms, but it looked advanced. It was gray, with small yellow parts and glowing green bits by the barrel and just over the trigger. She had little to no idea how a normal gun worked, this one... it might have been some of Screaming-Eagle's magic at that point.

"Oh, you'd be surprised, we're also good at not falling into obvious traps." He grunted back. He knelt by her side, edged in closer to the wound. "Tell me, what manner of idiot goes for a rape or a robbery in broad daylight?"

"Yeah, didn't really think about it..." She chuckled. Her side made her regret it immediately, allowing her to focus on the issue at hand. "Is it bad?"

Arcade hummed, too taken by her wound to look at her or answer straight away. Divines be praised, at least he didn't poke at the hole. "It seems the bullet hasn't penetrated the flesh too far, but... without the appropriate equipment, I can't say for sure. Do you feel something in your side? Aside from pain, of course."

Naeera glowered at him. What sort of question was _that_? She hadn't been hit by an arrow, she didn't know if the bullet had come out or no. It should have been pretty obvious, though. If she moved a little-

She bit down on her tongue with force enough to taste blood. She felt a tiny metal _thing_ lodged into her flesh, tearing it up just a little bit more with every sudden movement. Like an arrowhead, but not as dreadful. "Okay, fuck, there's definitely _something_ in there."

He gave the bullet hole a last, focused glance before he raised his eyes to meet hers. His face was surprisingly devoid of any strong emotion. He could have been mad that she'd run off into the unknown like that, or sick worried that she was wounded, but he wasn't. He was simply scowling as though she'd grazed her knee. "Well, thanks to your perfectly planned course of action, now you require medical aid I can't provide without the right equipment, namely anesthetics, disinfectants, and appropriate instruments. How does sub par and extremely crude field treatment sound to you?"

Naeera frowned at him and opened her mouth to reply – but then her eyes widened. She let out a nervous laugh, trying to press herself as hard as she could against the wall. "Hey, look... infection I can handle, no problem man, Argonians can survive rabies or tetanus or whatever, easy as that." Her expression vanished into a concerned stare. "How... how do you plan on getting the bullet out?"

He only answered with a sigh. He reached into the pockets of his lab coat and pulled out a small knife. It had a short, straight blade of darkened steel, its hilt matte black. Old stains marred its surface, along with a few scratches.

"Oh no, fuck it." She breathed as she shook her head. There was no way in Oblivion he was going to get any closer to her with an old, dirty knife stuffed away into his coat for Gods knew how long. "Can't you, like, _clean_ it first?"

"Of course I am going to clean it!" Arcade snorted indignantly. Weren't she too focused on the old combat knife and how she could effectively keep it away from herself without hurting him too much, he would have reminded her of Screaming-Eagle. "I'm a doctor, not some cheap holomovie action hero. Now stay still, and wait while I start a fire to sterilize the blade."

Naeera swallowed hard. She didn't really want to nod. It would have been equal to saying she was fine with it – and surprise, she fucking wasn't. There was no healthy alternative to that, because either she got that bullet out, or she was going to have to keep tearing up and suppressing cries until she got to that Archmage bitch back at the Lucky 38 _on foot_, through _Freeside_. So she just drew in a deep breath, tried not to look too hard at Arcade stripping the bodies of their clothes and gathering what little wood he could find in the rubble, and waited.

Healers weren't so helpless back in Skyrim. She missed them, the simple comfort of someone magical in any city ready to give her free help, the thought that she didn't have to endure actual surgery like only the gravely wounded had to. Worst case scenario, they had potions. Lots and lots of sweet-tasting potions to cure her after the ordeal was over. Maybe with raspberries or honey in them. But_ nooo_, there was no magic here, no alchemists and, of course, no actual healers. They had doctors carving up people to save them and recurring to highly addictive chemicals to treat anything. Great.

It was much too weird to even think, but... damn, she was missing Screaming-Eagle now. Not the way she missed Maria, or Eyes-Of-Silver, or anybody else; yet she figured she could use the uppity lizard's magic. She'd healed Keram-Rei when he had _two_ bullets in him, and she was bound to know some spell to make people fall unconscious. Still, maybe being healed that way wasn't worth all the scorn and the glares and the sneers... really, that got annoying quickly. She had been _this_ close to-

Something exploded not too far to her right. She barely had the time to register the crack of lightning and the green flash. Good thing she had been staring into the wall, because chances were good looking directly at the thing could actually blind her.

She hissed at Arcade as he holstered his gun. He didn't notice, he just tended to the small fire that had started at his feet. He squatted before it, waved his hands, blew on it, and it soon grew large enough not to need his help anymore. After that he took his old knife and began moving it back and forth over the fire, letting the flames lick the blade but not his fingers (obviously, he'd have been kinda stupid otherwise). The repetitive movement got to her, almost calmed her down. It was a good distraction from the half-naked corpses straight in front of her, too.

When his knife took on an incandescent red hue for a few seconds, he pulled it back from the crackling fire. Her eyes were fixed on the glowing blade, on the blonde Follower walking directly up to her and dropping to his knees by her side.

Naeera sketched a tentative smile as he motioned for her to hold the knife for him. The hilt was warmer than she would have ever been comfortable with. "How long will it take it to cool down?"

Arcade closed his eyes and shook his head. Once he was done rolling up his sleeves and grabbed his brute instrument back, he sighed. "I don't know exactly, but we aren't waiting. We have no way of transporting you to an operating room because there isn't one in the Mojave."

She began to slowly inch away from him and the knife, no matter that her side hurt a little more with every movement. She seriously didn't like where this was going.

"Mind you, it would be safer to leave the bullet in and not make things messier than they already are, but I wouldn't want to risk it; it's too close to your intestines." He went on, mildly annoyed by her lame attempt to escape. "I have no bandages, no sterile equipment, and even if we could take you to safety and treat the wound without removing the bullet, I have reason to believe you wouldn't stay put."

Naeera managed to clear her throat. She knew it was useless and he had already made up his mind, but she wanted to be sure. "Please don't tell me you want to take the bullet out... now."

Arcade rolled his eyes. This time, he actually scowled at her. "Do you have a better idea?"

She wanted to prove him wrong so badly. A scene went on in her head where she gave him an amazing alternative, left him speechless, and happily strolled to the Atomic Wrangler with him at her side – but that wasn't going to happen. The more she thought about a way to sort things out, the less her brain worked, the more a picture of a glowing blade cutting up her guts flashed before her eyes.

In the end, she let out a resigned half-sob. Before he did anything, though, he passed her a broken wooden plank from a small pile of bricks. It was filthy, dusty and absolutely disgusting... but she didn't want to scream herself hoarse, and neither did he. She dusted it as best as she could, then placed it between her fangs. She nodded once.

With methodical precision, Arcade's fingers widened the little hole in her Nightingale armor suit to a broad tear. There went her hopes of repairing it... most of her other thoughts followed them suit, snatched away by pain. She felt his hand stretch her wound open with great force, and she began to bite into the wood, to stop the squeal making its way up her throat. Her scales were too smooth for him to effectively get a hold on them, thus he was forced to use more strength than necessary. Cursing herself, she held the bullet hole open wide enough with shaking hands. It hurt like a motherfucker, but if she lost it now, that wound was going to be the least of her worries. Her breathing started to lose its regularity, her vision blurred.

"I can see it now... it's small, and near the surface..." Arcade muttered to himself, as though she couldn't hear him. She drew in harsher breaths every second she looked at the sky. If he made some of his snarky remarks now, he was as good as-

Sharp heat pierced the wound.

Naeera's jaw locked around the plank, all of her muscles tensed. The scream that came out sounded choked and muffled by the wood. She went blind with pain, her back arced against the wall, her fingers clawed at the scales on her belly. Never before had an enchanted, flaming dagger stabbed her, but this had to be the closest thing she could imagine to a fiery blade searing her side. The smell of burned flesh – _her own_ burned flesh – rose to her nostrils as tears fell down to her neck. It was _agony_. The only words that came to her mind were curses, but the only things that came out of her mouth were howls.

There was no end to it, it just felt like it went on, and on, and on. She'd never had to suffer like this in Skyrim, _never_, she had never been slowly charred on purpose, she had never screamed that loud. She would have ripped the bullet out with her own hands if only to stop the pain, but she was too paralyzed to do anything. She squeezed her eyes shut, as if that could keep everything out; but it never ended, her side was melting on her, cooking, and she had to stay awake, endure it all.

Then, just as it had begun, the agony receded into simple, unbearable pain.

The unexpected shock took some of her focus away from her squealing nerves. That allowed her to notice Arcade kneeling just in front of her, and how her own talons twitched on her feet. She saw rather than felt his hands on her shoulders, his worried stare, his arched eyebrows.

"Hey, it's over, we're done!" He shouted into her face. His tone lowered when she blinked or nodded or muttered a groggy 'yes'. "The bullet is out, and the bleeding has stopped, now calm down. Everything's going to be fine."

Her wish to cry lost intensity as she looked to her side. In the middle of the huge tear in her suit, above the dried blood on her gray scales, she saw a blackened little hole no thicker than her thumb.

Her whole body slumped weakly in relief. Her mouth relaxed on its own, allowing her to take out the broken wooden plank. She didn't even want to look at how her teeth had punched straight through it, she simply grabbed it by an edge and flung it away. Her breaths now came in slowly, but steadily. She blew out long sighs with tears in her eyes, and closed them. It was over, it was finally over...

Arcade still hadn't moved from where he was. "Naeera? How are you feeling?"

She opened one tired eye to look at him. She didn't answer right away, but shook her head. "I feel like biting your balls off..."

"It would be greatly appreciated if it didn't come down to that." Arcade dissuaded her. She heard some of his humor return into his words. "I am very fond of them, you know."

Naeera ignored him in her half-coherent state. It wasn't like she was really going to do that, anyway – not that he hadn't deserved it, of course. She had a bigger problem right now. There was no way in Oblivion she could leave her wound like that, nor that she was ever going to keep on suffering indefinitely.

She groped down to her right hip, finding her belt, her right dagger's hilt... and there it was, her pouch. Unbuttoning it wasn't too easy, but she was able to pry it open and shove her hand inside. Now, she was looking for something made of glass, it should have been close to the surface. Not her bow, neither her crossbow, her yellow dress could wait, _that_ she was going to use when she was alone to relieve some stress... finally, her fingers tightened around a short bottleneck.

Already savoring the taste of strawberries and pure health, she pulled the flask out. Its base was smaller than her palm. The whole bottle had a bright red hue, closer to pink. She saved herself the effort and pulled the cork out with her teeth. Catching a whiff of its scent, she guzzled down the potion.

The effects were immediate. The pain subsided into torpor, then faded away completely. Her nerves, flesh and scales grew back with ease over the bullet hole, as though she'd never been shot. The two teeth she had lost with Beatrix's punch came back, too. She threw the empty glass flask into the dumpster where it shattered with a satisfied sigh. Finally, she climbed to her feet, ascertained nothing hurt when she moved, and wiped her hands on her thighs.

Arcade was still on the ground, sitting on his heels, arms slumped by his sides. His eyebrows had disappeared somewhere above his hairline, and his wide eyes never left her healed wound.

Naeera raised a baffled brow at him. Was something wrong? "What? You can find healing potions anywhere in Skyrim. Dirt cheap, too."

His gaze rose to meet her amused look. He worked his mouth for a few seconds, unable to produce any sound, until he finally swallowed. "He-healing _potions_?"

"Yeah, healing potions." Naeera confirmed. She gave him a shrug and a teasing smile. "What, you don't know what a healing potion is?"

Just like her flask, her grin shattered.

Fuck.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, _fucking fuck_.

Why couldn't she keep her fucking mouth fucking _shut _for once? Better yet: why the fuck had she thought drinking a fucking potion in front of him could have been a good idea? Gods-fucking-dammit, she never thought things through when she was distracted. It was all her fucking fault. Now all the others were going to be royally pissed – and for good reason, too.

As she kept on trying to find new words to express the curses at her thoughtlessness, Arcade rose to his feet. It looked like he couldn't even go back to his neutral expression anymore, even if he tried. He just stared at her. "You... have healing potions. Potions that heal people."

Naeera suppressed her growl. She massaged both of her temples. "Gods-fucking-dammit..." She voiced under her breath. At last, she sighed. "Yes. Back where I come from, they're about as common as magic."

He couldn't even bring himself to utter the word. He just mouthed 'magic', too astonished to say it out loud.

Oh, by Dibella's huge ti- _ample bosom_, she was going to slam her head into a wall later.

"Look, I'm fine with you knowing this shit and me not having to lie anymore, but you've gotta promise me something." She snapped at him, jabbing her finger in his sternum's direction. Her eyes hardened. "Never, _ever_, tell anyone about it, or my friends and I are going to be in trouble. _Big_ trouble. You say anything to the NCR, we're fucked, big time. Are we clear?"

Arcade seemed to regain a bit of his personality again. He shot her an offended glance. "Why on Earth would I ever talk to a Republic representative? I'm not exactly on good terms with them."

At that, Naeera's tension eased away. "That's... good."

"Where are you from?" He immediately began. "_Actually_ from, I mean. Healing potions and... _magic_ can't be real, perhaps that is just the way you call your miraculous medicines and advanced technology; so either I am having visions, or you come from somewhere that-"

"Too long to tell in a dark alley." She waved him off. Once the exasperation had gone away, it was easier to talk. "If you don't interrupt me every ten seconds, I'll tell you on the way to the Atomic Wrangler."

* * *

She shouldn't have indulged him.

She should have told him to stay quiet and follow her, nothing more. The sight of actual buildings in the early afternoon, of people staring at her out of simple amazement and _not_ to point a gun at her, helped her abraded nerves just enough to let her power through the barrage of questions without going on a killing frenzy. The decent part of Freeside had some magical property about it... or maybe anything was better than the neighborhood in ruins, she didn't know. It still wasn't enough not to make her grind her teeth or clench her fists down her sides.

"... So you said this _'Thu'um'_ of yours might rely on the Magicka inside all the living beings of Tamriel, yet even individuals incapable of magic might make use of it." Arcade went on thinking out loud at her side, as though she were some sort of expert on the matter of magic. He gathered quite a few suspicious looks from the bystanders. "But then why did you say there are more mages than _'Tongues' _in your world? Wouldn't it be more convenient if-"

Naeera interrupted him by raising her fist, slowing them to a halt. She looked him straight in the eye, and twisted her serpentine head into a face of pure vexation by baring her fangs, scrunching up her brows and letting her nostrils flare. Right now, she didn't need to waste her anger on him by shouting, he was to good to deserve that. Still, she didn't know how much that was going to be worth if he didn't stop it. All of her features told him to shut the fuck up, or else she might just forget that he was a friend.

He was about to mumble out an apology, but a more intense glare silenced him for good. Strengthened by the relative peace, she resumed her march towards the Atomic Wrangler. It couldn't be too far, they had already passed the King's place, so it stood to reason the casino was on one of the streets to her right. It was only a matter of finding the right alley and the right advertisement.

The Redguard-looking dude in black and gray armor was the crier for the Silver Rush, she'd already seen him a couple of times. The ridiculous guy in a red suit with a giant fork was ruled out, too, since he stood right in front of 'The Devil's Den'. On either side of her were at least ten small casinos, bars or diners, like a cheap copy of the Strip's luxury. Finding her objective wasn't so easy during the day as it was at night; the lights and neons were a great aid after dark.

When she turned to ask Arcade where to go, she spotted fishnet stockings out of the corner of her eye. Her head snapped towards a spindly girl a few dozen feet to her right: poorly dyed blonde hair, a skirt that covered barely a third of her thighs, heavy makeup, and an uncertain posture no real prostitute could have assumed. Naeera headed for the young girl, who was currently trying to captivate what little crowd wandered about.

She placed a hand on her hip, leaned forwards and almost lost her balance on her high heels. "Hungry? Thirsty? Horny? The Atomic Wrangler has got you covered!"

The former whore in her winced at the depressingly bad catchphrase. Instead of letting her go on, though, she cleared her throat to get her attention. "Hey sweetie, we need some directions. Care to help us out?"

The girl turned around and nearly toppled. She stared at Naeera for long, tense seconds, as though unsure of what to say. In the end, whatever fear she might have felt proved to be too great for her to process normally. As a consequence, she opened her mouth woodenly, as though her only means of defense was cocooning up and acting like a machine. "Uh... sure."

"Where's the Atomic Wrangler?" Naeera asked without wasting any time. She decided she wasn't going to question her odd reaction.

The crier's face went blank for a moment or two. Then, as though she didn't really know what she was doing, she jerked a thumb towards the narrow street behind her back. There wasn't much to be seen there, but then she noticed a sign towering over the rooftops: it was a cowboy riding on a series of overlapping circles, something she had learned to call an atom. Even if she hadn't known what it was, though, she would have found it familiar.

It was the sign for the Atomic Wrangler, just by the end of the street.

"Thanks a lot!" Naeera managed to say with a smile.

She didn't stick around to hear her response. She bet the girl thought she was on some kind of drug and left her be. The light thud and a series of gasps behind her back didn't come as a surprise to her, either.

She ignored the usual piles of rubble, the cracked windows, the barred doors. She had already grown accustomed to the landscape, and to Arcade's relaxed stroll by her side. Of course, his legs were a lot longer than hers, it didn't take him much effort to match her pace.

In a few moments, they stood at the smoked glass door of the Atomic Wrangler – the only thing not broken about the building. Chips of the brown and ocher paint were missing. A blackened barrel waited by the entrance. The owners probably lit it at night to help their customers heat up and find the place more easily. The windows on the upper floor were all cracked or broken, allowing the moans to be heard outside. She sighed wistfully at the memories conjured by the sounds, and pulled the door open.

A physical wave of smoke and alcohol hit her as soon as she entered. She blinked the sting out of her eyes, coughed out at the change of atmosphere and at how dingy the place was. The lurid brown wallpaper was torn and ancient, uncounted dark spots stained the carpeting like a disease, and the lights on the bare ceiling shed little of their sickly yellow light over the tables, gamblers and prostitutes. She noticed a small wooden stage to her left, but it was deserted. Men and women alike drank, smoked, negotiated with whores, bet what little money they spared on spinning wheels and cards.

Her annoyance flared up at the miserable sight, but she saved it for later. She was there to find a deal, not to teach people they were better off without wasting their lives away on stupid green tables. She wasn't influential enough for that.

However, the serious woman in a gray business suit behind the counter looked just influential enough to her. She stood out like a noble on the streets of Riften's outskirts. Aquiline nose, narrow eyes, manly jaw, a detached air as though she couldn't care less about what happened, clean clothes and perfect brown hair despite the filth all around... yeah, this had to be the owner, one of the Garret twins.

Naeera made a beeline for her, heedless of the stares and intakes of breath following her and Arcade's wake. She wasted no time, so that the woman didn't notice her before she reached the counter, taken as she was by scrutinizing her own business. Hmph, someone who cared more about money than the people giving it to her.

She motioned for Arcade to do as she did (and keep quiet), and sat down at one of the half-dozen stools by the bar. She rapped her knuckles against the wooden surface, clearing her throat.

The Garret turned around with a bored air to her, tinged only by faint annoyance. Before she could ask what they wanted to drink, though, she frowned. It took the woman a second or two to go back to her old, spoiled expression. "Huh, if it isn't the lizard-woman the Followers found, and... a Follower?" She shrugged as if to answer herself, facing Arcade. "Keeping an eye on her?"

Even though 'lizard-woman' only managed to get her crankier, Naeera did her best to divert the bartender's attention to herself without biting her hand off or stabbing her. "I'm not in the mood for chit-chatting, we're here to talk business."

At that, the woman's eyes became sharper, like a hawk scenting prey. She assumed a more upright stance, leaned against the counter, and raised a brow in curiosity. "What, you think you're going to convince me to give away my booze and chems for free to the Old Mormon Fort just because you're an oversized lizard and you think you can scare me?" She snorted. "I respect the Followers' work, make no mistake, but I also respect my own business. So, like I've already told the others, this will require a long talk with my brother. You'll be sure to know the outcome after he comes back from New Reno in a couple of weeks."

Naeera narrowed her eyes on the bitch. Even though she did have a point, it sounded like she'd done her best to be as detestable as she could. 'Oversized lizard' certainly didn't help her very, _very _precarious standing. So the thief resisted the impulse to slam the woman's skull against the counter, and reached into her pouch. "How much?"

The Garret didn't need to ask what. Her expression turned from hostile to interested, a little smile arrogant enough to make a few of Naeera's nerves sizzle appeared. "Well, all things considered, if we want this to be a long and healthy relationship..."

Naeera dropped a bag in front of herself – and an inch or two from the woman's fingertips. It contents clinked together so melodiously that half of the casino turned her way, drawn by the symphony of money.

The woman frowned at the bag – just like Arcade did, if only a little more surprised – and pried it open. The lights up ahead reflected on its shimmering contents. It took her a few moments for her brows to shoot up, and her mouth to open in astonishment.

"You see... Whatever-the-fuck-your-name-is Garret, I've had a bad day. Real bad." Naeera began, growling loudly enough for the Garret twin to look at her. "This is my proposal for this deal. About five hundred gold Septims, give or take, which I reckon is quite a lot in the old bottle caps you use." She drew in closer to the woman, baring her fangs ambiguously. Either this bitch was so much of an idiot to mistake it for a smile, or she was as bright as she seemed and recognized the deeper threat. "You take them, we're all happy, and you can say you've helped Freeside and made friends with the Followers. You don't... and I think I've found myself a way to blow off some steam."

"How stupid do you think I am?" The Garret asked her with a laugh. Her fingers clutched greedily at the bag, brought it closer to her heart. "I'm not crazy, this is more than your friends could have paid in a lifetime or two. Why, it's just enough to pay for all the expenses."

_Just enough my ass._ Naeera thought to herself, but she avoided voicing that. Instead, she rose from her seat, patted an amazed Arcade on the back, and smiled. "In that case, Ms. Garret, I believe that settles it."

The woman smirked back, satisfied with the deal. "Hope to see you again, ma'am."

Naeera only replied by turning on her heel, grabbing Arcade by the arm and dragging him outside. The sooner she never saw that snake of a woman ever again, the better.


	27. In the Ghetto

This late at night, the Old Mormon Fort was, for the most part, asleep. Only a few of the light bulbs shone their dull light over the courtyard, the lanterns in the tents had all been doused, and the only people around were the guards at the gates and the patients too ill or gravely wounded to sleep without morphine.

And Naeera, of course.

She made sure Arcade was snoring softly and not faking to be asleep like last night, confirmed that there were no mercs on the way of her intended path, and slunk over to the walls. Her armor and cowl absorbed every ray of moonlight, save for the ugly tear in the fabric on her side revealing her glossy gray scales. Whatever, if she remained in the shadows nobody was going to notice her anyway. Even then, what could they tell her? 'Oh, you saved us and a whole lot of people including some of our experts who'd become junkies, but you're grounded, sorry.' Yeah, like the Followers wouldn't let her move freely around town after all she'd done. Arcade even approved of her secret (sort of) vigilante routine.

Although, she had another reason to go out tonight, her patrols would have wait. Some people were going to have a very bad day, or were about to never see another one, but if she played her cards right, maybe this could be the first step towards stopping those crimes. Maybe not indefinitely, and maybe not on a large enough scale, but it was a start nonetheless.

The familiar landscape of ruins met her; she was used to it now. Another couple of days and she may even grow fond of the maze of piled rubble, rusty wrecks and barred doors. Ever since she'd met up with Arcade, a map of the streets and landmarks had slowly begun to form in her mind. Her knowledge couldn't compare with a local's, but hey, at least she had a lower chance of getting lost, and she actually knew where she was going.

She leapt from the top of the walls down onto the sidewalk, rolled so that she wouldn't shatter her bones with the impact, and headed for the most important part of Freeside: Fremont Street.

Naeera mainly stuck to the alleys and dark streets – just to keep clear of the largest groups of people and thugs – and steadied her pace at a trot. She didn't want to waste time now, guided as she was by an uncharacteristic sense of purpose. Well, she supposed surviving, stealing or assassinating didn't require much of it in the first place; or not as much as saving the world from everlasting Dragons, ancient Vampire Lords and an old-ass Dragon Priest, at any rate. While not quite as epic, she knew this task could be a big step in the right direction for Freeside, and it was more than enough for her.

By Mara and Dibella, she hadn't been able to do much in Riften only because of a moronic Jarl and a web of organized crime so thick as to make the Pre-War Mafia look like a bunch of amateurs. Here, she basically ruled Vegas... or, well, she was one of the several rulers and she didn't really have all that influence to begin with – but she'd be damned if she wasn't going to do something for the people living in there now that she had the power. They deserved better than what life had given them.

That, and she was curious as Oblivion. It wasn't like she could stay put after passing near that building so many times and seeing those guys at every street, she had to know them better.

Getting there was nothing exceptional, really. She was one with the shadows, she had learned from her mistakes. Better yet, no killings tonight, so even less chances of being caught or fooled. Whenever gangs or small crowds blocked her road, she kept to the fire escapes. The closer she got to her intended objective, though, the more people she found. Without a second thought, she decided to abandon the ground in favor of the rooftops. Her progress wasn't quite as fast, but she was more comfortable there anyway. Not to mention, she had to find high ground before she approached Fremont Street. Not much use in performing recon from the ground.

When she reached the Atomic Wrangler's sign, with its flashy yellow, red and blue neons, she knew she was almost there. Now it was just a matter of finding a good spot... there. On the roof of the Devil's Den Casino. It took her a few jumps to find the exact ledge for her purpose; but, despite the scarlet glare from the stylized Dremora sign assailing her right eye, she wasn't going to find a better place. Her target was right across the street, too, and she squinted at it as though she could better find its secrets that way.

The King's School of Impersonation.

Maybe they weren't as great as the Followers, and they were also a gang of sorts, _and _their hair looked like it had been licked by a cow for ten minutes straight – but everyone she'd talked to (about a dozen healers and a couple of kids brave enough to say hello) only had good things to say about them. The most common opinion was that they kept order around Freeside, stopping thugs and other gangs whenever they could and patrolling the streets as best their numbers permitted. Besides, kids loved them because they helped the town and they were 'cool'. The King, their leader, was little short of a living legend. If they could make a difference, like the Followers, then maybe it was about time she talked to them.

That, and she had to persuade Eyes-Of-Silver and Yes Man to set up patrols of Securitrons around Freeside. Maybe Westside, too, even though she'd only heard of it... if the place really was in even worse shape than Freeside like they said, then they needed some added security in any case. That came later though, not now. She shook her head vigorously to get back with the matters at hand.

The building was noticeably larger than most of the old apartments and shops surrounding it. For starters, it was four stories of pale bricks and white eaves, as opposed to the dull yellows and dark reds of the rest of Freeside. Golden neons read 'SCHOOL OF IMPERSONATION' on either of the streets it faced, flanked by purple silhouettes of dancing men, all the windows underneath alight. An enormous black guitar hung over the entrance, with a bright blue outline and sparkling, star-shaped lights by the handle. Inside it the sign read 'THE KING'S' in dazzling pink.

The place being as important as it was, guards had been placed everywhere around it. They were pretty easy to spot, since nobody else wore dark jeans, white-and-blue striped shirts and black leather jackets to begin with. These men stood at either side of the entrance, by the lower row of windows, even across the street and in front of other casinos. Understandable, they seemed to value their home about as much as the Thieves' Guild – and they weren't as few.

So, after a more thorough inspection of the structure itself, she damned sure wasn't going to get in through the front door. Sure, people liked her and all that, and the Kings were bound to be friendly with the female helping the Followers for free (hopefully just friendly and not _friendly_), but she didn't want to imagine how long she was going to have to hang around at a party or if they'd go for an interrogation. Basking in the crowd and chatting with nice people was always welcome, true, yet she didn't really want to wait an hour or so before she got to see the King. There would have been someone by the windows on all floors, and broken glass made a lot of noise anyway, so that approach was ruled out. Ah, fuck it, no alternatives? Really?

Just when she was about to give it up and endure a possibly lengthy welcome or, worst case scenario, a trigger-happy new guy, a light coming from the low glass dome on the roof caught her eye. She raised a curious brow at it. Was that a... skylight?

Naeera's lips creased into a smirk. There was her entrance.

She saw just one obstacle: getting across the street unseen. Now, while not as crowded as the New Vegas Strip, this particular part of the avenue drew quite a lot of customers. As a consequence, going down wasn't going to work. With that ruled out, she still couldn't make a leap of about forty or fifty feet to get on the rooftop, and the cables of the conveniently placed telephone poles were snapped. In short, it was impossible to get there both quickly _and_ undetected.

She wiped the stupid smile away from her face. Come on, did she really have to go all the way around to get there? Seeing no other way to reach her objective, her only choice was losing more time. She cursed under her breath as she took the long route back where she'd come, up until the point she reached a collapsed building bridging both sides of the street. Nobody really knew what or when that had happened, considering no bombs had hit the city and it had fallen down just like that. Someone had begun to call it the 'Ol' Tired' for... no reason she could really see, to be honest; but the name had stuck.

She climbed up to it, slowed her pace so that she wouldn't break her neck tripping over a hidden brick or impale herself on a treacherous piece of rebar, and made her way through what felt like a mile of uneven ground. She couldn't help but sigh in relief when she stepped on the _roof _an old (and upright) apartments building on the other side. From there, she took off at a run, vaulting over obstacles instead of circumventing them, jumping over alleys, and praying to Nocturnal she didn't have to nearly get lost again once she reached the King's place.

Her Daedric patron seemed to have listened after all. After having followed the rooftops right to the back of the King's School of Impersonation, she spotted a neat fire escape leading up to the last floor. It was well within reach, too. It did creak like a two-centuries old, rusty piece of metal when she landed on it, yet nobody was on guard by the emergency exit. She sincerely hoped the old AC units humming loudly along would cover her noise.

She hauled herself up to the roof, then dropped to a crouch and hid behind an air conditioner. When she made sure there were no guards on the roof, and scowled slightly at the Kings' fatal oversights, she began to sneak her way up to the skylight. No running to get there. She didn't want to risk heavy stomps giving her away after she'd climbed half of fucking Freeside to get there and talk to the King.

Careful not to expose herself, Naeera peeked inside.

She wasn't too surprised to find herself looking at a hall. The floor was a light brown linoleum, and thank the Divines it wasn't another giant bright carpet she might accidentally shred up and be bawled out about by a red-scaled bitch. The wallpaper was a pleasant cream color, with no particular design save for thin, dark stripes at regular intervals. The large room took up a whole two floors in height, if the twin rows of windows and the high walls were anything to go by. From her point of view she was only able to see a few dark brown pieces of furniture – mainly drawers, lit lamps, small tables and the odd chair – and a... vending machine?

She frowned, but ultimately nodded; yeah, yellow and red, so it had to be something about those Sunset Salzburg drinks or whatever they were called. Her frown deepened and deepened with every new item: a life size cardboard cut of an unsettlingly familiar man in a glittery white suit, a pool table, a heart-shaped bed with sparkly red covers... well, alright, it wasn't like the Kings' style was exactly normal, so she let that slide.

Why was that giant room empty, though? The Kings weren't exactly the smallest gang in town, maybe that space would have been better employed as dorms, or an armory. Or both, why not. This place looked like a giant bedroom for only one guy, and a rich or important guy at that, so...

This time around, she beamed triumphantly. It wasn't just any King's bedroom, it was _the King's_ bedroom. Of course! Who else would have been able to afford all the incredibly expensive and weird stuff around, the clean floor, the not-so-dirty walls, the polished furniture? Damn, she was being particularly lucky tonight. The fact the lights had been left on gave her a nagging sense there was something off, but no sound reached her when she pressed the side of her head against the glass.

Okay, now that she was sure it was safe to stay around, she inspected the metal skeleton holding the small dome together. It was pretty solid, and each pane of glass occupied a space large enough to admit her – if she elbowed one broken, and that was out of goddamn question for obvious reasons. There had to be some way to get in, maybe if she climbed out to one of the windows... nah, everyone on the street was going to see her. Maybe she just had to look hard enough at the skylight. So she began to run her fingers across the thin, rusting tubes, feel the glass, try and find something like a handle, but nothing. Honestly, it would have been a little too strange to find a handle on a dome, of all places, so she wasn't really sure what she was expecting there.

Handle or no, she wasn't disappointed. There, on one of the lower rows: a hole in the corner of the glass. Larger than her arm's girth, too. She supposed she could do it the good old-fashioned way. So she took hold of one of her Dragonfang daggers, held it like an artist held his tools, and started chiseling away at the edges of the damaged glass pane. It was too damn slow for her taste, but it was the only way not to get caught. Besides, a delicate work such as this was nothing she couldn't handle in a relatively short time.

Once she had cut a line on two sides, she placed a hand underneath the pane to stop an eventual fall and kept on tapping away until it finally came free. Now, holding a sheet of glass one handed wasn't particularly comfortable or functional, since it should have been much smaller to begin with; still, she managed to set it aside without it shattering into a thousand pieces. She got to her feet, inspecting the fruit of her craft. It was broad enough to accommodate her, tail and feet included, and the drop wasn't as high as the Old Mormon Fort's walls. She could manage.

Naeera first descended into the hole, taking hold of the metal structure instead of plunging in directly, and then she let go. She was careful to land into a roll. Despite the thud that felt much too loud to her, nobody came looking in the next five seconds, no footsteps, nothing. So she finally rose from her squat, ran a hand over her forehead's scales even though Argonians couldn't even sweat, and let out a relieved sigh. The temperature here was lower than on the outside, too. Even if the difference wasn't as immediate as with the Lucky 38, the comfort was always welcome. She saw two exits, one big – possibly to some corridor – and one smaller, to a private room, maybe a bathroom. Looking behind her back, there wasn't much else she hadn't already seen from above, perhaps it would have been a better idea to check the corridor and-

Something tackled her to the ground with enough strength to make Eyes-Of-Silver lose his footing. She, with her measly five feet and barely hundred pounds, was thrown back with the full force of a draugr Shouting at her. She landed splayed on her back, the wind knocked out of her lungs by the impact, and she was already moving to get up when a weight flattened her ribcage.

"Get off..." She wheezed, trying to move the ponderous mass of fur and metal from her chest. That simply made her regret her decision to open her mouth: the... armored guard dog started wagging its tail, whipping at her face, teeth and tongue as she rasped for air. She wriggled, she attempted to throw it off with her arms, to kick at it, and yet the furry fucker still didn't move. Oh, come on, where had that dog come from in the first place, it wasn't there when she'd looked...

If she couldn't move it by force, then maybe she could get it off another way. Her hand slowly slithered down to her belt, her fingers found the hilt of her dagger. The massive, living weight crushing her do the ground didn't seem to notice. What breaths she was able to make slowed down, her blade came free, inch by inch-

Just as she was about to take it out and stab it, the dog sniffed at her crotch and growled.

She let the dagger go, alarmed. No matter her Nightingale armor, one bite from those jaws and teeth, and then no potion or spell was going to be able to undo the damage. When the dagger slid back into its sheath, it went back to panting happily, and left her critical point alone. The only thing she could do now was let out a shuddering breath, relax her every muscle, and wait for it to move of his own accord. "Okay, fuck... you win..."

Defeated and left alone with her thoughts, she couldn't help but shiver at the smell, at the thousands of hairs she was getting all over herself, and at the weight. Just the idea of something like this on a much larger scale... okay, the risks may have been low, but she really needed to reconsider her interest in Eyes-Of-Silver. If he ever turned when they-

"Hey, would you mind being less happy, _dog_?" Naeera growled, trying to swat away the tail beating at her. She was moderately successful in that regard, because the dog _did_ in fact register her attempts. It did nothing to help her, however. "I can't even fucking think!"

In the way of a reply, it whined at her, and finished with a soft bark.

"Oh, that's how it is, huh?" She snorted; partially to express her frustration, partially because she had to get those hairs out of her nostrils. "That all you can come up with?"

The dog only whined a little bit more in apology.

Naeera rolled her eyes, which had miraculously not been attacked by dog hair. "Fucking typical..."

One of the doors creaked after a subjective eternity of being pinned like a bug. Blinded as she was by a fucking relentless tail-wagging machine, she couldn't see which of the doors opened – but she sure as Oblivion heard the guy come to a halt after exactly one step. The dog only answered with a happy bark, and wagged its tail harder, Divines damn him.

"What?" A man drawled, dumbstruck. His voice was low, accented like all the Kings'. Somehow, his felt more... intense, maybe? "Rexie, boy, how did you... what..."

"Came in through the roof." Naeera wheezed loud enough to be heard. The tail didn't help one bit with her compressed lungs. "Wanted to meet the King... dog showed up."

The same man whistled to call him away, and the dog rose up to trot over to him. "Well... looks like you found him."

Naeera didn't really care about that now, she just rolled over to the side and spat as many dog hairs as she could. She wiped at her tongue and her teeth, drew in deep breaths now that her lungs could inflate and deflate freely, and lurched up to her feet. After a quick glare towards the blissfully innocent dog, she looked up to find a... leopard pajama and dog-faced slippers. Whatever, it was pretty late, she guessed the King had just gotten up to take a royal piss.

She blinked as though she'd just failed to notice something. She went back to the vaguely adorable, panting thing staring at her. Something was wrong with that dog.

Well... half-dog, at any rate. It wasn't armored like she'd thought at first – but then again, the only thing she could see down on the ground was its fucking tail. Most of its head retained the aspect of a sheepdog, a particular race not too uncommon around Riften and Morthal. Brown fur, black muzzle, chestnut eyes, and all-round lovable unlike most big dogs. What the rest of his race lacked, though, were the metal hindquarters, the armor-like, red-and-blue components on the spine, and the steel jaw. Or the brain floating around in a blue jar, complete with ears attached on the glass and small plates and tubing keeping it all from falling down from the head, for that matter. It sat by the man's side, panting at her with the typical blank look of a dog certain that it had done nothing wrong. And no matter the amount of metal they'd put on it, even from that distance she could see they'd left on the bits that identified it as a _him_.

She rubbed at her eyes and decided not to think about that too much. This world was already a special kind of fucked up, the half-robot, half-dog was just another drop in the sea at this point. She raised her gaze to meet the man's, but she forgot was she was about to say. Her jaw dropped in amazement. Those blue eyes were to blame; like that nose, and those cheeks, and that mouth, and the way his black hair was combed, and his expression...

Naeera's eyebrows shot up in recognition. "Holy shit, you're Elvis!"

The King was just as surprised as her. His eyes widened and, before he could talk, he threw his head back and started laughing. "Oh boy, I was expecting a lot of things, but I sure as hell wasn't expecting that! And not from someone who ain't even a human to begin with..."

"No, seriously, you're so similar it's kinda freaky." She chuckled, her annoyance at the robot dog momentarily put aside. She ran a hand through her feathers. "I... _fuck_, you're the spitting image of one of my friend's posters, honest. Man, no wonder you're called the Kings, you all look and sound like Elvis! Well, not as much as _you_, but you know what I mean. The uniforms, the accent, the... everything."

"You can't believe how happy I am I finally found someone who knows the King's real name... that's all good and well, and you've put a smile on my face, but there's still a problem." He told her, taking on a more serious tone. His lopsided grin never quite disappeared, however. "Why did you break into my room?"

Completely incapable of pulling a straight face, Naeera shrugged noncommittally. "I heard you help people, so I wanted to talk to you."

"This hour o' the night?" The King inquired, baffled. For once, the surprise wasn't aimed at her physical aspect. "In through the window? Couldn't you just wait until tomorrow?"

She opened her mouth to speak... and closed it at once. Well, alright, he did have a fair point there. And... it wasn't like she could stop crime in just one night, when she could have simply waited a few hours and talked to him calmly. In hindsight, maybe she should have thought the whole plan through a little bit more. She decided it best to drop the subject. "Hey, I'm here, and you're awake anyway." She folded her arms across her chest, cocked her hip, and raised a brow. "Wait, you know who I am, right?"

"Ah, 'course I do." He waved her off, as though she were some sort of world savior. Which, then again, she was – but not to these people. "You're the snake lady helping the Followers out, my boys told me about you, you're... Naeera, yeah." He laughed softly. "At first, none of us knew what to make of the news. Some were scared, others thought it was just rumors – ol' Pace wanted to get rid of, quote, 'the fuckin' monster', said you could be dangerous. But then people started talking about you and the Followers, what you did with Francine Garret." He gave her an approving smirk. "And I'm gonna tell you what I told 'em: Freeside needs more people like you."

Although Naeera's feathers bristled at the 'snake lady' part, it wasn't as bad as 'lizard', and he actually meant it to be inoffensive. Besides, the rest had been pretty nice. Still, now that he mentioned it, she couldn't just tell him 'Hey, I've got this super plan about helping Freeside, care to join?' That would have been too sudden, and it wouldn't have worked either way, she had no ties with the man in the first place. So she smiled back, genuinely pleased at the compliment. "Why, thank you! Look, since I know you, and you know me, let's cut straight to the point. I just wanted to know if there's any way I could help around here."

The King was taken aback by her answer. After a few moments of stunned silence, he slowly began to nod to himself, smirking. "You broke into my bedroom and startled Rexie in the middle of the night... only because you wanted to help people." He shook his head, chuckling. "I can see why Julie took you in. Why, I've got a little job for you, if you're interested. Nothing too complicated. Did you notice the bodyguards for hire near the gates when you entered Freeside?"

"Uhm... no, not really." She told him. Adding 'Because when I came here, I could only see the inside of an army truck' felt unnecessary, and might have weird consequences if the King didn't turn out to be a fan of the NCR. "What about them?"

He frowned, surely asking himself how she'd missed something so obvious, but it was only momentary. "It's good money if you can stay alive long enough. Freeside's not as safe as it used to be, so the money is well earned." He paused a moment; his smirk vanished, his eyes hardened. "_Usually_ well earned, that is. Recently my men tell me that one of those bodyguards, fella named Orris, is making a little too much money. He's making a killing in repeat business. Once someone hires him, they never want anyone else. I want you to find out _why_."

Naeera grinned wickedly, punched her palm to punctuate his words. "So I go there and beat the information out of him? Scare him out of the business? Get rid of him for good?"

"Well, no, I was thinking something more subtle." The King replied, putting a damper on her enthusiasm with a faint frown. "You've made friends with the Followers, right? Make one of them hire him, play the innocent tourist and follow his lead, while you keep out of sight and keep an eye on 'em. If nothing happens, so be it... but I'm guessing this won't go smoothly." He shrugged. "Call it a hunch. So, what do you say?"

Naeera's grin returned. This time, it was as playful as a cat's. "Oh, I say I know just the innocent tourist..."

* * *

"Was it really necessary to wake me up at three in the morning for this?"

Naeera tried not to laugh, or even smile, at Arcade. This was supposed to be something serious. The Kings standing guard by the outside of the gate didn't feel like following the same restrictions as her, and had been snickering away like no tomorrow for a good five minutes already. They stood just under the wall that separated civilization (what passed for it, anyway) from the wasteland and the ruins of Old Vegas. The only source of illumination around was the rusty, malfunctioning neon sign that read '_Welom _TO _FREEDE_' in four or five different colors and fonts.

That light was more than enough to shine on Arcade's glorious new looks.

For the sake of dressing up and wearing a believable disguise, he had ditched his Follower attire and had gone for an old blue business suit Mick and Ralph had been so gentle to rent them, complete with elegant black shoes and even a black striped tie. The glasses were gone, letting her appreciate just how small his blue eyes were and how thick those lenses must have been. But that wasn't the best thing, oh no. His shock of blonde hair had been covered by a reddish-orange wig she had happened to carry around in her pouch for what could have been years. Maybe it was connected to some orgy she couldn't even remember, or a colleague of hers had lent it to her; she honestly had no idea.

The Follower-turned-businessman glared daggers towards the two Kings, who were forced to look away before they burst into laughter. Then, for a lack of better targets, he aimed his scowl at her. "Couldn't you ask Beatrix to do this?"

Naeera tapped her fingers on her chin for a moment, glancing up pensively. She only shrugged. "Nah, you're the only one who's always inside of his tent, he won't recognize you like he would Beatrix. You're officially a new face. Besides, the King footed the bill himself, it's not like you're losing anything here."

"Aside from my dignity..." Arcade grumbled between gritted teeth. He looked like he really wanted to pursue the argument, but he dropped it off. He wiped at his face, let out a long breath, and set his shoulders. "The sooner we get this over with, the better."

"That's the spirit, Mr. Archie Cannon!" She exclaimed, patting his shoulder amicably. "I'll always keep you in my sights, don't worry. See you by the Strip's gate."

She only heard him sigh out loud as she scrambled up the mishmash metal wall of old car parts, assorted wrecks and concentrated tetanus. Lucky for her, one of the nearby homes had crumbled right by the barrier, so jumping there was child's play. She got to the highest point, well out of the radius of the lit barrels, and crouched like a gargoyle, immobile and ready to leap back into life.

The gates began to move with the scream of tortured metal, leaving an opening wide enough for Arcade to pass through. He headed straight for a group of armed men by the sidewalk. A wooden signboard marked their location as a more specific place; since she could only see the back of it, she guessed there was something like 'bodyguards for hire' written on there. Many of those men she recognized as Kings; small weapons, leather jackets and jeans were their trademarks, after all. They all sat at a table, playing some card game with another two or three men in brown leather armor.

It was then she saw _him_, the man who couldn't be mistaken for anyone other than Orris. A palm taller than Arcade, dressed in full metal plate salvaged from whatever heavy pieces of scrap he could have found and paradoxically polished to a sheen, he made sure to catch any tourist's eye by standing right next to the entrance. Spiked pauldrons, what looked like pieces of car fenders or motorcycle tanks on his chest and back, hubcaps, and other assorted junk covered him from neck to toe. He wasn't all that different from that Cook-Cook bastard, come to think of it. His armor had looked the roughly same. Although, that guy had been plain fucked up and dangerous, this one... he just looked like a self-confident and colossal douche – a feeling his long black hair, neatly-trimmed beard and macho expression only worsened. Besides, did he carry that huge revolver around to compensate for something?

Nobody with either working eyes or a functioning brain could have mistaken this idiot for a real mercenary. Keram-Rei had made her see holomovies with more believable heroes than this dude. By Dibella, the guy with the bandana shooting up a whole jungle at least had the decency to show off his pecs.

Arcade didn't waste any time and made a beeline for him. Given the height of her vantage point, the distance and the ever-present background noise, she could only imagine what they were saying. The Follower appeared to be playing the undecided customer, judging by how he hung back. Orris pulled some cool moves, leaned against a streetlamp and, soon enough, he had the King's money in his pocket. The would-be merc motioned for him to follow, and took off at a run.

While Arcade struggled to keep up the pace, Naeera dashed through the rooftops and stared quizzically at the man. Why would a bodyguard so sure of himself want to be as quick as possible? It just didn't click. Especially since his customer was lagging behind, left at the mercy of any possibly ne'er-do-wells hiding in the shadows, and he was forced to make a few stops along the way and _expose_ himself. That was fucking stupid.

Not to mention, if their alleged destination was the Strip, why was he offering Arcade a tour of Freeside? They passed by the Old Mormon Fort, even slowed down so that Orris could gesture at the place... was he acting like a guide? Seriously? Someone paid him to be safe, and he ran faster than his customers, brought them around for some sightseeing, to visit fucking Mick and Ralph and take detours?

It just didn't make any sense. A true mercenary would have kept his employer close at hand, his gun ready for use, and he would have spent more time looking at his surroundings than at the landmarks of the place. In short, the complete opposite of what that sham was doing. She had to give him his due, though: his armor may have looked heavy, but he moved as though he was hardly wearing it. Now _that_ required some experience on the field... or in running away from it. Which sounded like something the guy must have done countless times before, come to think of it.

Then, something changed soon as they got on Fremont Street. Even from her familiar place on top of the Devil's Den, the change of stance was plain to see. Orris took out his big revolver – while Naeera giggled like a teenager at the way she'd put that – and raised a hand to draw Arcade to a halt. The Follower closed in, probably to ask for an explanation, but Mr. Scam only pointed further down the road, to a ragtag quartet of men unsubtly staring at them, dressed in old, dark clothes and holding crude clubs in their hands.

Orris led him away from the main street, straight into an alley.

Naeera's eyes narrowed on their retreating backs. Before she followed, however, she shot one last glance at the thugs: they exchanged a nod and moved towards the other end of the alley.

She didn't waste any time. She made her way to the nearest rooftops before any of them made it there, then held onto the eaves to drop down into one of the lower windows. She gripped at the ledge, got inside the musty, abandoned apartment, and looked out at the alley ten feet below her. This time, she didn't want to miss any details. This smelled like a set-up.

Sure enough, Orris and Arcade popped up from her left, the former holding his gun all sorts of wrong, the latter fighting to hide his embarrassment at being forced into that whole business. No sooner had they taken a couple of steps that the thugs appeared at the opposite end. They had enough space to stand side by side, pipes, bats and wrenches held in both hands as they advanced with a purpose and synchronization impossible for alley cats. They'd practiced well.

"A-ha!" Orris announced theatrically enough to make Naeera want to headbutt the window frame. He leveled his gun as though it were a magic wand. "Do not fear, Mr. Cannon, leave these lowlifes to me!" He banged a fist on his chestplate. "Come at me!"

In a manner reminding her of cheesy heroic ballads, the four bad actors dashed forwards... and shouted a war cry. Oh, because that was supposed to make them scary, right. No matter that shouting is generally a very bad idea unless you're on an actual battlefield and you're a big, frightening warrior like Eyes-Of-Silver; or that those four scrawny dumbasses wielding shit they'd found lying around couldn't possibly have scared Maria. No, they charged anyway, like a fucking Orc battle company.

She had to struggle not to laugh when Orris held his big revolver at his hip like in a Western holomovie, narrowed his eyes in concentration, and opened fire with his roaring handgun. One shot, the leftmost dropped with a gurgle and rolled into the dirt. Another shot, the rightmost tripped on something and screamed. The last shot, and the two in the middle fell like sacks of-

Wait, three shots, and... four kills? Her frown deepened. How did that even work?

"Gotcha, losers!" Orris cried victoriously. He rolled his gun on his finger, blew on the smoking barrel for added effect, and holstered it back. He turned towards his customer with a smug smirk and a raised brow. "As I said, nothing to worry about. They couldn't stand a chance." He laughed, sure of himself. "There's a reason they call me the best there is."

Arcade was thankfully smarter than that. He edged past the barrier of metal and stupidity, counted the bodies, and turned back with his fists propped on his hips. That was a good signal he was going to blow his cover. "Amazing, how three bullets got rid of four, well-spaced thugs, don't you think?"

Orris rolled his eyes and flicked his wrist, like a master teaching his special trick to his student. "What can I say, I aimed the shots so the ricochet-"

"Or you fired blanks, simple as that." Arcade interrupted him, pointing an accusing finger towards his uneasy face. "But that leaves us to the question: what did a fraud like you come up with for the blood effect?"

Before the fake merc could stop him or convince him otherwise, the Follower threw his cover out of the window and stomped over to one of the 'dead bodies' (who were obviously still breathing). He fumbled over his wound for a while, until he finally took out a small, plastic bag from underneath the collar. It still leaked red fluid. She could smell the familiar thick, iron scent from up there.

His face turned the exact same shade.

"You used actual _blood_ for this?" Arcade shouted, aghast. Naeera was taken aback. She'd never seen him this _upset_ before. "Blood bags! That's why we were constantly getting to the end of the month without enough blood for transfusions, you and your little friends were the ones who kept on stealing it so that you could play merc and get rich!" Surprisingly, Orris was retreating under the passionate barrage. The unsurprising part, though, was the fact that the thugs were slowly taking advantage of his exposed back to crawl back to their feet. "People have been dying because of this, you immense, self-absorbed jerk! Have you got any idea how many men and women we could have saved, weren't it for you?!"

When the first of the accomplices got within striking range of Arcade, Naeera decided she'd had enough and pounced down on him. She pinned the thug to the ground with her momentum, took out her daggers, and firmly planted one between his ribs. His grip on the lead pipe loosened up until his dead fingers let go.

The others, too dumbstruck or terrified to react, were easy prey for a seasoned assassin. She slit the throat of the second one, pierced the temple of the third in the same blow and, just as the fourth gathered his wits to himself and started to run, she drove both her daggers into the nape of his head.

When the last of the dead bodies hit the ground and didn't get back up, she turned back towards Arcade. The scarlet had drained away from his face, replaced by an open mouth and a much paler shade of pink, close to wax. "Oh, I... hadn't noticed them. Thank you."

"Ah, just returning the favor." Naeera chuckled dismissively, with a playful punch on his arm. He made a show of that and rubbed at it. "So, what are we gonna do with him?"

Orris chose that exact moment to whimper like a little girl. His useless revolver dropped from his holster and clattered to the ground, so he did the most sensitive thing a man in his position could do.

He made a run for it.

Of course, first step he took, he tripped over his own gun and fell face-first into the concrete. Naeera bid her time, followed him at a walk as he turned, screamed and began to crawl away on his ass. As it turned out, he was quite fast at escaping in ways that had no regard for his own dignity. When he bumped into a dumpster, cornered and left at her mercy, she flashed him a cold, predatory smile.

Orris met her golden eyes with a look of pure, undiluted fright. A big guy like him, always acting like the supreme badass he wasn't, was now shocked into silence. His lips quivered, and he looked away, hiding his head in his hands as he sobbed and whined.

Naeera faltered a little. Now... wow, that was new. She wasn't expecting to scare him _that_ much. She was actually feeling bad for the poor fucker. Well, now she'd better roll with it anyway. "Look at you... and you call yourself a man?"

"I'm sorry!" Orris sniveled at her in desperation. Oh, for fuck's sake, he couldn't possibly be this much of a pussy... "I-I just wanted to make easy money! Please, don't kill _meee-he-he_!"

Arcade appeared at her shoulder, seemingly as confused as she was. "You know, I may have wanted to kill him earlier, but looking at him now-"

"_Pleeease!_" Orris bawled. He gave them an imploring look, accentuated by the stream of tears and snot running down into his beard. "I'll do anything! _Anything_!"

Naeera grimaced her distaste. She shook her head, glanced up at the skies as if to ask the Divines for some answer, and sighed. "Just get up."

Orris blinked, as though she'd just spoken to him in Dovazhul.

"I said, get up!" Naeera snapped. This time, Orris obliged at once, climbing back to his feet with the aid of the dumpster and the nearby brick wall. He was about to say something, maybe drop to his knees and thank her for her infinite generosity, but she stopped him by holding out her hand. "Give us the caps back, then you can go and never show your face again."

In the blink of an eye, she found a bag of two hundred bottle caps in her palm. Orris apparently understood the fact neither of them wanted to hear any more of his shit; he nodded his gratitude and bolted away.

"So..." Arcade cleared his throat, throwing his wig in the open dumpster and putting his glasses back on. "Do we simply tell the King we convinced him to go away, without getting into detail?"

* * *

Naeera had to wipe the tears from her eyes in order to finish the story. "... And then he sobbed some more and ran away like a fucking rabbit! You should've seen his face!"

The whole main hall erupted into laughter for the fourth or fifth time. The Kings by the gate had been called back just to hear the tale of how Orris had been driven from Freeside, and they were the most vocal about their pleasure to hear that in painstaking detail. Some of the others were there, too, like the guys at the entrance and a few of the older-looking veterans. In the front row were the big guy and King's best friend Pacer, old Rex and, of course – the King himself. Even in the middle of the night, they hadn't wasted any time in letting her on the stage and putting a microphone in her hands while everyone else got to their seats and tables. That story was much too juicy for only the King to know.

"Thank ya, thank ya very much." Naeera said in her best impression of Elvis, leaving the Kings to roll on the floor a bit more while she dropped from the stage and went up to the King and Pacer. She was a bit sad Arcade couldn't join her, but hey, he needed some sleep, and he also had to get the suit back to Mick and Ralph. She'd meet him at the Fort in any case first thing in the morning.

Rex barked happily at her, either as a way to greet her or to imitate his owner, who was currently holding his royal sides and risking to fall from his chair. She scratched the dog behind the ears and raised a brow at him. "Look, I'm willing to turn a blind eye to what happened earlier, but only if you promise you won't sit on me again. We got ourselves a deal?"

Rex looked at her for a good ten seconds. At last, when he reached a conclusion, he sat solemnly and barked once.

She kept on scratching him behind the ears and patting his sides, much to his enjoyment. "Then we're cool, buddy."

Someone at the table cleared his throat. She looked up, expecting to see the King ready to tell her something, but she was surprised to find Pacer – the same guy who, according to the King, had wanted her dead – holding his hand out. He was definitely uncomfortable about swallowing his own pride, that was sure. He couldn't really look her in the eye, and his arm had a certain wooden quality to it that told her it was all a bit forced.

Still, Naeera shook the proffered hand with the trace of a smirk. "I take it you've got something to tell me?"

"Look, you're lucky you're a girl and you look like one of 'em Deathclaws, because I wouldn't say this to anyone else otherwise." Pacer explained in a low growl; the hint of a threat didn't fully abandon his voice. He still didn't appear to be too keen on what he was doing. "I... okay, maybe I was wrong. 'Bout you. You're pretty earthbound. I can respect that."

"Why, that's sweet of you, Pacer." She told him, not thoroughly convinced by his apology. She noticed the King, even though he was laughing, kept an eye on the whole thing. At the very least she could do that for his sake. "Not getting shot is always a pleasure."

Pacer grunted something out at that. Before he said anything else that made him lose his tough attitude or forced him to stay in her immediate proximity, he turned on his heel without another word and disappeared through the exit.

Naeera watched him go away and, as the room slowly but surely emptied, she took one of the free chairs by the King and raised a brow at him. "You told him to say that, didn't you?"

"You got me." The King admitted, hands up in defeat. Resigned to the fact he wasn't going to sleep any time soon, he had donned a cream jacket, black pants and shiny shoes. "I don't want any bad blood running under this roof. I've known him since we were this tall, and you... well, you go on like this, and you're on your way to becoming a good friend yourself."

"I'd be honored." Naeera replied with a smile. She accepted the words with quite a bit of smugness. He was a good guy and someone she liked, one of the few in all Freeside, and she could only be glad to be considered his friend. "Now, I wouldn't want to spoil the moment, but Arcade sort of forgot to give me the caps back, so..."

He shook his head, waving her off. "Nah, it's cool. You can keep the money, you two earned it."

"In that case, have you got any more jobs for me?" She asked, ready for something as easy as Orris's business. Compared to the shit the Thieves Guild or the Dark Brotherhood put her through, this was a piece of cake; she was starting to enjoy it, too.

"You're an eager one, ain't ya?" The King laughed. "No... well, not yet. There's bad news brewing in Freeside, but it's nothing solid. Swing by tomorrow and I'll tell you more about it."


	28. A Little Less Conversation

Oddly enough, Naeera didn't feel bad, annoyed, or angry. Which was pretty weird, considering how everyone on the street usually glared at her, ran away, asked why a lizard had breasts or how had she gotten them – a question which had plagued her existence for years, and it was just the icing on the cake. Still, she usually had better things to do than answer those people with anything other than a growl and a proud display of her middle finger.

That morning, however, everything felt different. Maybe it was because Arcade was walking at her side again, and the vast majority of the local populace thought that to be worthy of respect. The Followers helped anyone in need, and if she'd made friends with one, then maybe she couldn't be so bad, no matter she wasn't a human. Yet that didn't really cut it. A few days earlier it had been the same story, tall blonde guy in a lab coat or no. What she really felt was making a difference was the occasional King taking notice of her and waving. She returned their salutes with a smile and a wave of her own on her way to the King's School of Impersonation. Amazing, how no more than six hours had been enough to make most of them change their minds. News really did spread fast around here.

Maybe that was enough for the good, miserable folks of Freeside to finally realize that just because she didn't look like them, that didn't mean she automatically craved for human flesh and only desired for death, destruction, the souls of children and actively supported Caesar's hairstyle. Less than a week ago she scared people away with scowls, and now she was sort of accepted here in Freeside. Meanwhile, centuries had passed back home, and still Khajiit weren't allowed inside of Skyrim's cities, and Argonians were only paid salaries that bordered on slavery. Here, she had been called lizard only because nobody knew what to call her. In Skyrim... pfft, she'd lost count. Guards mostly, even after she had been revealed to be Dragonborn. She was still a rat with scales for the pigs.

Fucked up this world may have been, she started to like the local humans a great deal more than most of the ones she'd met back in Tamriel.

"What did the King say about coming back today, exactly?" Arcade asked her, trying to hide his yawn and failing mid-sentence. Poor guy had slept what, three hours? Four if he was lucky. "Did he mention anything specific?"

"Nah, not really." Naeera answered with a shrug. "Just that there were bad news brewing in Freeside."

In the way of a reply, he snorted as though everything were perfectly clear and obvious. "Then I think I know what this is all about."

"Ah, well, good for you." She huffed back. From the height of her five feet, she narrowed her eyes on him. She hadn't been in town for long, true, but she would have noticed anything out of the ordinary. "Care to elaborate there, doc?"

"He's going to send us on some errand to try and ease the tensions between the natives of Freeside and the NCR settlers and soldiers." Arcade clarified, pushing his glasses further up the bridge of his nose like the good smartypants he could be at times. "Things have never been too smooth between the two groups. Fights, occasional brawls, general mistrust... there have been one or two murders, although with how crime solving works around here, the nameless perpetrators got away with it every time." He chuckled mirthlessly. "What can I say, welcome to the den of friendship and happiness that is Freeside."

Naeera carefully formulated her next words in order to keep her answer short and effective; mainly because she could already see the giant black guitar hanging over twin doors not too far ahead, partially because she knew from personal experience there were worse places out there. "Thank your gods this isn't Windhelm, because you'd reconsider this place in a heartbeat."

Before Arcade could come up with any puzzled question for her, though, she waved at the two Kings standing by the entrance. She recognized their faces from both the bodyguard hiring post and the theater hall – and they recognized her, too, since one started to laugh and the other opened the door for the two of them.

"'I'll do anything! _Anything!_'" The one on the left said, clutching at the sides of his face in exaggerated panic. He fell into a fit of giggles shortly afterwards. "Can't believe that hub cup shat himself like that... at least now the real bodyguards can work again."

"All thanks to you." The other, older one told her soberly, although he couldn't help but smile at his friend's imitation of Orris. "By the way, the King's waiting inside, main hall. It's the first door on the left after the desk, can't miss it. He says he's got important business to discuss."

Naeera nodded her thanks at the both of them. She motioned for the vaguely impressed Follower to come with her, and took extra care in not screwing up the linoleum of what had once been the waiting room. Just ahead of her was the semicircular desk, a good fifteen feet or so away from the entrance, with the smaller doors to the left and right leading to the theater and the Kings' private rooms and storerooms, respectively. Posters of the the real King covered the walls, and no matter how faded away they might have been, someone always stopped by to stare longingly at them. It was almost funny, how Elvis Presley had become a deity of sorts for these people.

She turned the knob to her intended destination and pushed the dark wooden door. The hall she'd seen for the first time yesterday welcomed her, almost entirely empty though it was. A good two dozen round tables stood there, with just about a hundred folding chairs distributed equally between each one. The sunbeams coming from the tall windows reflected on the clean parquet floor, on the high walls topped by discreet lights, even on the white ceiling. The only thing out of place were the stage's crimson curtains. But then again, considering this had once been a school where people came to learn how to impersonate Elvis, they were to be expected.

Sitting all alone just by the stage, scratching at his cyberdog behind the ears (Arcade had given her the proper term earlier), dressed in his trademark cream jacket and black pants, she spotted the King. She headed for him, beaming and spreading her arms as she went. "Hey, King! How are you doing? Got anything else for..."

Her arms fell down her sides, she trailed off. The smirk was gone from his face, a frown darkening his usual knowing expression. Still, he did his best not to show it for more than a second and feebly smiled back. "Naeera, good to see you and your friend." He gestured at the two free chairs with his hand. "Please, make yourselves comfortable."

Naeera didn't really know what to say. She sat down the same time as Arcade, leaning forwards, and absentmindedly let Rex lick her fingers. "Hey, what's wrong?"

"You want the short version, or the long one?" The King asked her rhetorically. "Because long story short, _everything_. Tensions are higher with each day that passes, and I can't do a damn thing that the Squatters and those soldier boys won't see with suspicion. And it just keeps getting worse. I'm trying to keep it all from falling apart, but... well, you know how it is. While you were away, another fight broke out. Twenty people, my boys tell me. One dead, all the others injured, more or less heavily."

"Now come on, that's impossible." Naeera firmly denied, chuckling in disbelief. "Only eight people turned up at the Fort tonight, and one of them was there just because he had a mild case of... what was it, Jet addiction?"

"I would believe that's because the people from the Republic don't even trust us Followers anymore." Arcade said for the King, who gave him a rueful nod. "We try to help everyone, but it's them who don't want to stay in the same tents as the locals, with doctors who don't give them a special treatment based on their status as members of the NCR. They prefer their own combat medics to us."

The King shook his head. "Couldn't have put it better myself." He sighed. "Worst thing is, we actually proposed to give them a hand settling down, have some of us patrol the streets with their troopers – be good neighbors and do the right thing. Nothing, they flat out refused. I never got any answer longer than 'The New California Republic will ensure the safety and well-being of its own citizens.' Same thing when we were low on food and asked for supplies, said they didn't have enough to spare, and that we weren't entitled to 'Republic assets.'"

Naeera's jaw went slack with astonishment. She attempted to believe and wrap her mind around what the two of them were saying, but she simply couldn't. That sort of behavior didn't sound anything like something Colonel Hsu would have ordered _at all_. It was stubborn, self-righteous and just plain fucking stupid. She might have managed to say something elaborate but, leaving out the profanities, it all boiled down to one word. "What?"

"That's what we all asked ourselves." The King told her. He was about to run a hand through his hair, then thought better of disrupting the amount of hair gel he'd put into it and folded his arms across his chest instead. "Now we need someone to put everyone at ease. I can't do that, they're never going to trust the man they see as the source of their problems. Besides, none of my boys would want me near the soldiers anyway." He waved his hand to encompass the two of them, and a faint shadow of his old smirk touched his lips. "But we've got a representative of the Followers here, and the... lady who helped Freeside more than any would have believed possible. Things are gonna go silky smooth with you two, I'm sure."

As if to punctuate his words, the chatter of gunfire echoed in the distance.

Naeera jumped to her feet, her head snapping to the windows as though she could see something other than glass and bricks that way. Her heart beat faster in her chest at the implications of the distant thunder. "The fuck was that? NCR?"

"No, their equipment largely consists of semi-automatic rifles." Arcade reassured her, placing a hand on her forearm so that she would sit down again. She obliged with some reluctance. "These are automatics. It's probably just gangs."

She wanted to believe he was right, because if those soldiers got into a fight with civilians or thugs, it was going to be a massacre. The constant, rhythmic bursts of fire brought some measure of relief with them, though. After all, it was Freeside they were talking about, a place where people needed a bodyguard just to get across the street. By Mara, she should have known that, she'd stopped more crimes than she cared to count at this point. It was probably nothing worrisome, like Arcade had said. She hoped.

"Yeah, we're having some trouble with those kids, too." The King continued. This time, his tone took on a hint of annoyance. "That can wait, though. They're a pain in the ass, but it's usually small-timers, big gangs are rare these times. We had to deal with some dangerous folks in purple from Third Street years ago, now _those_ were bad times... but that was before House, back when we were all tribes fighting to survive. Times have changed, for better or worse."

Ah, so the man himself admitted they had problems with safety in Freeside... okay, she had to try and lay out her plan now that she'd earned the respect of a good part of the city. She sat forwards on the edge of her chair, and stared at the King straight in the eye. "Hey, we can solve all this shit, and you're looking at the solution right now. I think I've got a way to keep this sort of things from happening. Or at the very least, from happening so often."

The King raised an intrigued brow at that. Even Arcade turned to her with an expression of baffled curiosity. "Well, I'm all ears."

Naeera allowed her grin to surface, set her shoulders, and leaned back in her chair with a relaxed air. "Well, as it happens-"

The front door burst open.

"Boss!"

The three of them swung around to meet an exhausted young man rushing towards them, the Kings' regular attire he wore nearly unrecognizable. His black pants and jacket were covered by a thin film of dust that made them appear gray, and his striped shirt was drenched in sweat. He bent forwards as soon as he got by their table, almost as if to throw up, and took in huge gulps of air. "Boss..." He managed to say. "We... the shooting... they sent me..."

The King was the first to get to his feet and reach the man, shadowed by Rex as always. Naeera and Arcade exchanged a worried glance, but decided they needed to know nonetheless. They had to hear what this guy had to say. Whatever it was, it sure as fuck wasn't good news.

The two guards at the entrance came in, about as surprised as everyone else in the hall. The younger one wrapped an arm around the shoulders, shook him up a bit. "Hey, Jimmy, calm down man. What happened? What's wrong, buddy?"

Jimmy shook his head, raised his eyes, and met the King's with all the looks of a scared rabbit. He had to work his mouth before he could speak. "The soldiers, they attacked us! By the old train station! It's a slaughter!"

Silence fell. Everything seemed to have stopped around her. All the people running outside, the music coming in from the upper floors, Jimmy's ragged breaths; the only noise she could hear was the constant drumming of not-so-distant gunshots. How many people were those bullets hitting, shredding up, killing?

Tensions... why hadn't anyone mentioned _that _problem any fucking earlier? She could have done something, anything – Keram-Rei could have done more, for fuck's sake, or Eyes-Of-Silver, or Screaming-Eagle! Every last one of them had become goddamn heroes for the NCR after McCarran and the Fiends. So much good it had done Freeside.

Naeera's fists balled up of their own accord. The muscles along her jawline clenched, she began to growl alongside Rex. She kicked over a table to keep herself from unleashing her rage on the people present. "Gods-fucking-dammit!" She snarled. "Motherfuckers! I knew it, _fuck_, I knew that couldn't be good. Shit!"

Arcade didn't waste any time by losing his cool. "I'll get to the other Followers."

"King, you've gotta stay here!" The younger guard all but ordered his leader, and he nodded back, understanding the gravity of the situation. Rex took point in reaching the stairs. "We've gotta get upstairs, call the others, defend the place."

Naeera eyed the older guard, stared into his deep brown eyes, just a shade darker than his skin and hair. She did her best not to scream her request at him. "Where is this station?"

"I... just follow me!" He told her, nodding fiercely as he unholstered his submachine gun. "It's on the other side of town, I'll get you there!"

Naeera didn't feel the need to reply. She only dashed behind the King leading her. She cared little to nothing of his shouts at the crowd to get clear and go back to their homes, hide from the NCR. This shit shouldn't have even happened in the first place.

One way or another, she was going to end it.

* * *

The station was right at the end of the street. She could already see the open space of the parking lot ahead, and caught a glimpse of the concrete behemoth beyond, easily the same size of Jorrvaskr, the Companions' mead hall in Whiterun. The abandoned interstate above cast its shadow like a titanic serpent, snaking and waving its way over the city.

Terry, the King accompanying her, was positive that the others were holding their ground and were defending the civilians there to the last man. Which made perfect sense, of course, since the Kings weren't the sort of people to leave harmless men, women and children to die, nor to back out from a fight.

Why had everything fallen silent, then?

Naeera couldn't shake off the feeling that this showdown had gone worse than she had imagined. On the way there, they had encountered very few Freesiders escaping from the firefight. She had hoped the neighborhood was just scarcely populated, but even Terry had told her how weird that was. Either they had joined in with whatever weapon they could find, or...

No, it wasn't possible. The NCR wasn't exactly a beacon of light in the darkness of the Wasteland, but they weren't outright evil. What sort of monster killed unarmed civilians? Not them, that was for damn sure. At least, not the men and women she had seen serve under Colonel Hsu, and sure as fuck not First Recon. They... yes, the locals must have been somewhere else when it all started, or they had already escaped by the time she'd gotten there. That was the only logical answer she was ready to accept. The other was too grim an alternative for her to even consider.

As they reached the outskirts of the train station, she noticed the band of Kings huddling amid the expanse of wrecks with a breath of relief. Vans and cars, rusted though they were, represented a perfect choice for cover. She didn't know to what extent bullets could pierce metal, but most of the Kings there seemed relatively unscathed, so theirs was as good a defensive position as any.

She had no time to scan the rest of the battlefield or locate the Republic's troops; as soon as they broke out into the open, a hail of withering fire welcomed her. Heedless of Terry's fate, she rolled to her side, behind a cement barrier placed to delimit the parking lot. Bullets kept on chewing through her cover for a second or two before the soldiers decided to conserve ammunition and stop their fire. She dusted the chips of concrete from her shoulders and feathers with a growl. What the fuck was wrong with them? Was it _that_ hard to recognize someone who'd been at McCarran?

Careful not to lose her head, she flattened herself to the ground and crawled to the edge of the barrier. There wasn't much to see save for the cracked asphalt and the rubble by the parking lot, or the buildings a hundred feet in front of her. She did spot a rifleman or two by the windows, though. It was hard to make out any details, aside from the fact their guns were slowly swinging between the parked wrecks and her safe haven, surely to pop a cap into anyone brave or stupid enough to show his face. Then she noticed Terry holding his arm, sitting against a van's fender, and gave him a thumbs up to signal she was okay. He only raised his head, and said something to the man near him.

Not five seconds passed before a dozen Kings emerged from cover and opened fire with whatever weapons they had at hand, making her hearing canals go numb. She took advantage of the distraction and bolted for them, sure that all of the NCR's attention would have been focused on the immediate threat, not a small moving target such as her.

She vaulted over a car's hood, landing between Terry and a rather large man as the soldiers retaliated. Sparks rained all around her, and she ducked her head and cursed under her breath. A man went down hard somewhere to her right. He didn't rise again.

"Thank fuck you're here!" Pacer all but shouted into her left ear, making her wince at the suddenness of his voice. "I thought Jimmy didn't make it!"

"What the fuck happened?" Naeera snarled back, unable to keep the rage from entering her tone. The intense smell of gunpowder was almost enough to cover that of sweat and blood, daze her, confuse her senses. Good thing Eyes-Of-Silver wasn't there, or he'd have gone insane in an instant.

"It was just a peaceful thing!" Pacer announced, disconcerted even more so than she was. He ran his fingers through his ruined hairdo and shook his head. The barrage of gunfire faltered and halted as he spoke. "We saw a bunch of Freesiders who needed food badly on the way here, and we came along to make sure nothing happened to 'em. Then this Squatter asshole pulls out a knife, I shoot him before he stabs me, and everything goes to shit. Me and some of the boys got to cover fast enough, the others..." He spat on the ground. "Fucking Republic butchers!"

The insistent wind brought an all too familiar stench to her nostrils. She had refused to think about what it could have really been at first, she'd immediately dismissed it as the dead Kings in the parking lot... now she knew better than that. Her horror mounted up with the thick, unbreathable air. The hundred or so feet of no man's land that separated them and the NCR soldiers were completely empty, save for sparse forms she had desperately assumed to be rubble. There was no mistaking them for anything else.

Everything reeked of charnel house.

Naeera couldn't afford the luxury to break down now. She had to keep her head and eyes clear, keep focused, and find a way to end this thing without shedding any more blood. She had to ask one question to Pacer, though. She reined in her broken voice, swallowed, and faced him. "How many?"

Pacer's eyes fell. His shoulders slumped as he toyed with his gun. "I... fuck, I don't know. Couldn't have been more than fifty, us included. We're the only ones who made it through."

Naeera gave him a nod. A dozen Kings waited in cover with her. Assuming there had been five or six more...

A chill ran down her spine. Every single part of her refused to believe over thirty innocents had been gunned down by the NCR. Nonsense, it wasn't possible – she couldn't see them, maybe she was just making up the smell, exaggerating that of the dead Kings. How could... how could anyone do something like that? She'd once heard some freaky stories about the Thalmor, and even those felt hard to believe, no matter the pointy-eared motherfuckers were as inhuman as could be when they wanted to. But fuck, the New California Republic? The same Republic as Colonel Hsu's and Lieutenant Gorobets's?

A small part of her growled to kill them all, make them pay in blood for their crimes. She swatted the thought aside as though it were a mosquito. It was appealing, fitting, and she had no physical nor theoretical way of translating it into action. She would have been mowed down like grass before she even stood up and finished calling them motherfuckers.

Swallowing her own fury, she turned to Pacer. She needed to be reasonable for once. Things were easy for him: he didn't like something, he did everything he could to fight it and get rid of it, once and for all. She couldn't deny she respected him for being so straightforward. He was going to have to follow her lead on this one, though. "Pacer, man, we can't go on like this. This is suicidal. They aren't thugs or Fiends, we're talking actual, goddamn soldiers. They're going to kill us all before we even think about a plan." She could see his features hardening as he understood what she meant. "You've got to think about it. We can't make them pay if we rush them and get ourselves killed. I... look, they should know me, I've been at McCarran before. I know the Colonel. I think they'll listen to me. Maybe I can convince them to... I don't know, get out of Freeside and-"

"You want to _reason_ with these sons of bitches?" Pacer interrupted her, disgusted. "We ought to kill them all for what they did, they-"

"I was in a fucking army, Pacer, and I can think of no fuckin' plan to win this fight with force!" Naeera snapped at him. "They've got numbers, they're better armed, they're dug in, and we can't flank them! You think I didn't go over this? We just can't do that." She paused, let the anger boil out of her voice. "Besides, I don't want any more people to die here."

Pacer could have very well pursued the argument. He had all the looks and attitude of the tough, stubborn big guy who didn't know when to quit, ever. This time, however, it seemed as though the lesson finally got through to him. He looked away and waved her off, snorting. "Fine, whatever. Do your thing and get them out of my sight. For good."

Naeera drew in a deep breath. She waited a couple of seconds, made sure the NCR weren't doing anything funny that involved marching on them and slaughtering them as well, and exhaled. "HEY!" She shouted, loud enough for her voice to be heard clearly by the soldiers. "I've talked with the Kings, and they say it's time we end this thing – _peacefully_! Will you hear me out?"

No answer came. Long minutes passed, yet she heard neither people scuttling in a silent advance, nor a stomping march and the angry bark of machine guns. Just silence and the wind. She could have sworn the stench had grown stronger in that time, as if the dead were reminding her what had happened to them, and that she might join them in the blink of an eye if the Republic wished so.

"Come out of cover, slowly!" A man shouted back at last. He sounded nowhere near as shaken she was, his voice carrying a strong sense of authority with it. "We will not open fire if the gangsters with you don't provoke us! Come here alone, and we will talk!"

Naeera stared into Pacer's eyes. His grimace and glare spoke volumes of his trust in the plan, but none of them had a better idea. He simply sat down from his squat, and sighed. "Just move it, Naeera. Let's get this over with."

Okay, moment of truth. She rose from her crouch, holding her hands up to show she didn't mean them any harm, and began her walk to the NCR's hideout. She knew they were hiding behind those sandbags, by a red brick building. The red-and-white flag only confirmed her suspicions. Talks were going to be tense, of course, but that wouldn't be the worst part.

Getting through the corpses would.

She had barely covered a quarter of those hundred feet before she had to skirt around the first one. He had been an old man, with long gray hair, and five ugly red stains blossomed between the shoulder blades and the lowest ribs. Cut down with no mercy, and dismaying accuracy. He wasn't a sad casualty. They'd sorted him out, aimed well and pulled the trigger.

She suppressed the shiver and powered through it, through the reek of death, the blood, corpses and insides so close to her talons. Every couple of feet, one or two bodies lay mangled on the ground, more and more disfigured by gunfire as she drew closer. Her eyes watered; if because of the smell or her disgust, she didn't know. What sickened her was that she only counted three or four Kings in their middle. The rest were civilians, unarmed men and women whose only crime had been finding themselves in the wrong place at the wrong time. Slaughtered like lambs, butchered like cattle.

Already she could see the NCR soldiers rising from cover, tensely holding their rifles across their chests. Oh, she may spare them now, but she was going to make sure Hsu saw every last one of them hanged for what they had done. Four of them maintained their weapons trained, at the windows, while the seven on the ground relaxed a bit. All of them wore mercenaries' clothes. They had probably ditched their uniforms to avoid getting shot on sight. Their weapons strongly resembled those of the troopers back at McCarran, but she spotted no sign of wood on them, only metal and black plastic.

One of them took a few steps forwards, obviously their leader, judging by the certainty of his stride and stance. His armor consisted of a studded black leather jacket, with a plate of sorts visible underneath, dark jeans fitted with pouches full of magazines, and black boots. He had short brown hair, dark, dead eyes like those of a shark, and a face set in stone. He gave her a sloppy salute, obviously uncaring of what a thing like herself thought of it. "Lieutenant Powell, in charge of the platoon dispatched to Freeside." He announced. The way he betrayed no expression unsettled her. "State the conditions for your surrender, and we'll no more incidents will break out with the locals."

"I'm not fucking surrendering, I want to end this shit!" Naeera lashed out at him. She stopped at the four clacks coming from the windows. She gritted her teeth, and went straight to the point. "Why the fuck did you kill these people?!"

Powell rolled his eyes at her question, as though she'd just asked why he hadn't buttoned his jacket up to the neck. "_Because_ they could have been collaborators, or they could-"

She stopped him by raising her open hand, signaled to keep quiet. She could hear something else over the wind, something she could find no explanation for. Then, all of her focus shifted from that monster to somewhere behind her, to her right. She saw the back of a dead King, keeled over on his side, his jacket and the flesh underneath torn and tattered by the heavy fire poured into him. What had he been holding onto?

Most important of all, why was it _wailing_?

Naeera swallowed instinctively. That sound was all too familiar, and there was no way in Oblivion a dead man could cry... much less with that relentless, small voice. She broke into a run, Powell's words washing over her like the ashen, sludgy rain of Solstheim, and halted a good five feet away from the corpse. The stench of ruptured insides invaded her nostrils, but she paid it no mind. Something was much too wrong with what she was seeing. She circled around it, dreading what she could find.

She felt something snap inside of her, with the same, clear noise of a crystal cup shattering.

There were two children there.

The King had been holding the hand of the older one – who could have been the same age as Maria, and... she knelt next to the little boy, caressed the dirty, curly blonde hair out of his blue eyes. They were wide, and cold, and glassy. She adjusted his cap back on his head, and put the colored ribbon back in its place on his breast. His skin was starting to pale, his lips turning blue. His little body was fine down to the sternum, he'd been wearing something like an old, child-sized uniform. The lower she looked, the more she noticed the jagged shards of tiny ribs breaking through the flesh, one of his arms ending just underneath the shoulder with the sharp edge of his broken humerus, the rest of it held by the dead King. His entrails flowed out and pooled down to his legs, two feet away from the rest of the body. She couldn't see any bullet holes, only fistfuls of flesh missing and spattered around. Blood... there was no way a body so small could hold so much blood...

The other child clutched onto her elder brother's only attached limb, squeezing at his cold, dead fingers with her tiny hands. She had to be five years old, possibly four. She had the same hair, the same eyes, the same little nose... all of her face was twisted and red as she cried her eyes out, bawling and mewling her suffering to the whole world. The only wounds she was able to discern were bruises along her legs and arms. Other than that, she was going to be fine.

"Hey, hey, hush, hush..." Naeera whispered to her, giving her the best smile she could manage without ruining it with tears. "Don't worry, I'm here. I'm going to make things right to you, okay?" She wiped the streaks from the little girl's face, along with her brother's cooling blood. "Give me a moment, I promise I'll be back."

After a final stroke on the little girl's cheek, Naeera pried the King's fingers open to take what he was gripping. She stared back at Lieutenant Powell and his men, all of them frozen in their tense wait, and memorized each of their faces. She was going to need them. So she climbed to her feet, spread her arms, and shed away her expression in exchange for blankness. She couldn't afford any foolish distractions for this.

Fuck peace talks, not with the same slaughterers who'd done that to a little boy. They were going to pay for their crimes with their blood, _all_ of them. There was no escape now.

"Sweet Mother, sweet Mother..." She intoned, eyes closed as she cocked the black SMG ready. She'd seen enough shootings to know how to kill someone with a gun. She took a dagger out of its sheath with her left hand, the right one holding on to her gun. "Send your child unto me, for the sins of the unworthy must be baptized in blood and fear."

Her words paralyzed the men before her, chilled to the marrow by the lack of humanity in her tone. Indecision, fear, shock, horror... she couldn't really tell which one of these feelings took hold of them, if not all of them at once. She hadn't even properly recited the Black Sacrament, yet that had felt like the right thing to do. One thing she was absolutely certain of, though. The one they felt now was a very important sentiment indeed, for an extremely simple reason.

It would be their last.

She couldn't have possibly fought them all at once, oh no. They would gather their wits about them in the blink of an eye and tear her open, like they had done with that little boy and the man who had tried to shield him, like how they had left that little girl alone for the rest of her life. Still, she had to kill them face to face now, and she knew just the perfect way to do it.

Naeera bared her fangs in a snarl, took a step forward, and drew in a deep breath. She needed to be fast about this, act before any of them could react, rip their throats and spill their blood in the blink of an eye.

"_TIID KLO UL!_"

She felt no transformation in her, nothing had changed according to her body; but the world around her had. The echoes of her Shout resonated slowly, dragging out each letter of power for unnatural lengths. The soldiers before her began to flinch, blink, perhaps turn around for cover while they tried to understand what was going on. She saw the four at the windows bring their weapons to bear, inch by inch, as though they were moving artillery cannons instead of assault rifles.

Taking her weapon in both hands, she aimed down her sights and squeezed off short bursts against each of them. She saw the individual bullets she had fired, the muzzle flash, the almost simultaneous impact of the different bursts on the four men. Most of them hit the window frames or the walls, but at least five or six managed to miraculously lodge themselves into the riflemen's skulls or chests. The bark of her SMG became a slow, rolling thunder, as though it were announcing a closing storm. Seconds passed before blood spurted out and they began to fall.

Now that the farthest targets had been dealt with, she gripped her dagger in the right hand and stormed the troops on the ground, still halfway through their turn. She bypassed Lieutenant Powell, aiming for the man immediately behind him, and neatly sliced his throat open. Blood didn't gush out at once, yet she didn't have the time to stand by and watch as it flowed like lava down his neck. She lodged her dagger into the right eye of her second target; the third one, in the left. She drove her Dragonfang up the chin of a fourth, halfway through his dash to the sandbags, and jammed it into the spine of the fifth. She sheathed it in time for the sixth to have fully turned. Before he even realized everyone around him was dead, she took hold of the left side of his jaw, his right temple, and yanked hard. She heard each of his vertebrae snap individually, felt them break through her fingers.

Done with the minor targets, she turned her full attention to Powell. He was staring at the place where she'd once been, already on his way to run in the opposite direction. She decided to rip the rifle from his hands to shoulder it, then grab whatever clip he carried on him, along with his knife, and stash them in her pouch. Keram-Rei had been going on about having an assault rifle for weeks, at least now she could get him a nice present _and_ save herself while she was at it.

Lastly, she took exactly six steps back, held her gun trained on the bastard, and waited.

A shock like a lightning bolt traversed her whole body.

An endless barrage of rounds roared all around her, and ten bodies dropped to the ground with a single thud. Blood poured from every wound she had inflicted, yet not one scream accompanied it. She had done her job well, it seemed.

Powell made five steps in her direction before he came to a halt. He looked down at his empty hands with dismay, then noticed the corpses of the men under his command, the gashes opened across their flesh, the empty windows from which fire support would never come. Lastly, he met her eyes. Possibly for the first time in his worthless life, he truly came to appreciate the fear he had instilled into every one of his victims.

"I am not going to kill you." Naeera stated simply, matter-of-factly, in the same expressionless voice he had used with her. "You will bring a message to your superiors."

The Lieutenant's breathing became agitated. Those dead eyes lit up with terror as he tried to go away. "What-"

In the way of a reply, Naeera aimed at his right knee and pulled the trigger. Three rounds tore into the kneecap, tendons and muscles holding the two parts of his leg together. He fell to the dust with a wordless scream, clutching at the hideous wound and rasping for air. "Silence, do not speak. As I was saying, you are my messenger for the time being. You will return to Camp McCarran, and convey what I am about to say. Is it clear enough for you, beast?"

Powell nodded hastily. "Yes, yes, I-"

"Just nod." Naeera spat out, and ravaged his left knee with another burst. He clawed at the sand, howling towards the sky in agony as his back arced. She snorted, walked up to him, and stood on the wounds, drawing a higher scream. Heedless of his pain, she stared into his unfocused, bloodshot eyes. "Crawl back to Colonel Hsu, and tell him this: Freeside belongs to the people. The military of the New California Republic is not welcome here any longer." She crushed his kneecaps underfoot like she would have with cockroaches. He'd run out of breath for his screams. "Any presence that is not temporary or transitory will be met with force and extreme prejudice." She stepped back, freeing him. "Now slither away, like the spineless worm you are. Get out of my sight before I skin your scalp."

For a moment she spectated as the humiliated, pathetic thing as he rolled onto his belly and crawled with his hands, dragging the bleeding wrecks of his legs behind him and painting twin streaks of crimson on the dust and the asphalt.

Naeera shook her head, her targets all dead and her objective achieved, and walked over to the crying little girl by the mangled corpses of her brother and her savior. She still hadn't stopped in her desperate wails; now she called the name of her older brother over and over, as though she could bring him back to life with the sheer force of her will and love. She ran a hand over the boy's eyes to close them, murmuring a short prayer to Arkay as she did so, and turned towards her.

Those big, blue, grief-stricken eyes stared into hers for the first time. She ran a hand through her long, unwashed hair and scooped her up, holding her close to her chest.

"Gav! _Gav!_" She bawled, banging at the thief's shoulders with her tiny fists and kicking the air. "Gemme back ta Gav!"

"Shhh, don't worry." Naeera told her. She pressed her head against those golden locks, the only thing she could do to comfort her, and mask her own broken voice. "You're going home now, with a lot of friends and good people that will care for you."

"I dun care!" The little girl insisted, harder this time. "I wan Gav!"

Each of her words stabbed into Naeera's heart like shivs of ice. This poor, innocent thing had lost everything she had, and she couldn't give her the only thing she truly wanted. She wiped at her tears with her free hand and walked on, towards the street, as far away from that killing ground as she could.

The Kings by the parking lot stared at her in stunned silence. Of course, none of them would have ever imagined she was capable of doing something like that, annihilate the NCR presence in Freeside in under a minute. Why had it all come to this, though? They could cheer her all they wanted, that boy was always going to be there when she closed her eyes. None of the civilians were going to come back from the dead now that their killers had been massacred.

"That was _amazing_!" Pacer hollered as he ran to meet her, an inconceivable beam stretched wide across his features. It looked like he couldn't even see the kid she carried. "You did it, you got rid of 'em! You saved Freeside!"

Naeera answered him with a raspy, hollow grunt. She didn't have the courage to look him in the eye. There was nothing she could have done for those people, yet she felt as though each of their deaths was to be blamed on her. She should have been faster, done something before any of this ever happened. "Tell the King... tell him I'm not gonna be around for a while. I need some time."

"C'mon, you're gonna miss the big party!" Pacer laughed, reaching out to pat her shoulder. One of her glares was enough to put him to rest. "Whoa, hey, alright, alright. It's fine, you deserve all the rest you can get, Naeera. You earned it."

_Yeah, earned it... like fuck I earned it._ She told herself as she went on. The only thing she had accomplished today was spilling more blood, as though it could erase that of all those innocents. She wanted to go home, now more than ever, maybe find a way to calm that little girl down and give her to someone who could care about her... how long was this fucking street, anyway?

A gasp drew her attention.

She looked up, and found herself staring at a shocked Julie Farkas, standing at the intersection along with Arcade and four other Followers whose names she couldn't be bothered to remember. She couldn't help but notice the frightening dark red of her mohawk, all too similar to the shade she had smelled, seen, poured so much of today. Instead of saying something, she only handed her the kid, waved her off as though that would be explanation enough.

The four Followers dashed for the scene of the carnage as fast as they could, while Julie gave her a pained nod and followed at a brisk walk. Naeera finally managed a feeble smile. That woman had all the looks of a mother, the only thing she had needed to be one was a kid. She could only hope she was too young to remember this day.

"Naeera?" Arcade asked her. He gently shook her shoulders, forcing her to look into his eyes. "Naeera, what happened?"

"They're all dead." She breathed out, smothering the sob about to come with the words. She couldn't afford to cry like a baby, not in front of him. "It was just the Kings and the soldiers when I got here, the kid was the only Freesider who made it... those fuckers killed her brother, Arcade, he... he had to be eight..." She clenched her jaw in rage. It was always a good move to keep the tears down. "I killed all those NCR fucks."

Arcade was taken by surprise for a moment, forgetting even her grief. "You... what?"

"Yeah, just... look, I feel like shit right now." Naeera cut him off. This really wasn't the right place _nor_ the right time for him to start torturing her with questions. "I'm going back to the Lucky 38, where there's my friends, my room, and a fuckton of booze so I can drink myself to sleep." She made a weak gesture that might have been a salute, or a wave. "Goodbye, Arcade."

"I'm afraid that just won't do." Arcade tutted. Before she could punch him in the face and trample him, he walked up to her side. "There, now _we_ can go."

Deciding too much shit had happened for her to question him, she just rolled with it. Truth be told, she felt a bit more at ease, knowing there was someone with her. She didn't have the heart to walk all of Freeside alone with her thoughts.

"Yes, one may argue that you've caused me more headaches in five days than I normally suffer in a whole month, but sending you off alone wouldn't sit well with me." He had the urge to tell her after a few minutes. "You've done so much for Freeside, and you seem to be in a position of power to keep on doing good, so... I think I might give up on the whole research gig. I'm sure Julie will understand, anyway." He cleared his throat indecisively, forcing her to look at him before he spoke. "And... you did mention a couple of experts of the arcane living with you, yes?"

* * *

Keram-Rei resisted the urge to slam his head flat against the wooden desk, or headbutt it long enough to kill himself and be done with the three officers in front of him.

_It's more like two officers and a diplomat, if we want to be finicky._

He grunted out in exasperation. He wanted to die there and then. He didn't want to sit in that office at night and have to listen to those three growl, stare or throw a long-winded rant at him any longer. The padded chair wasn't even comfortable, he had to sit on the edge in order to avoid dislodging his tail. The bordeaux-and-gold carpet had to be the most tawdry he'd ever seen, just like the huge NCR flag occupying an entire wall, or the old pieces of mismatched furniture placed around the room apparently at random. The only item that made sense in there was the fucking terminal, of all things. And even that had a bear sticker on it. Not that the rest of the embassy had been any better, of course.

He should have known a bloodsoaked and sad Naeera marching into the Lucky 38 for the first time in five days alongside some blonde doctor called Arcade Gannon meant trouble, but he'd just assumed she had hunted down some Fiends and found something horrible in their hiding place. Little did he know that some armed and seriously pissed military police officers were going to pop up at the front door in the late evening, looking to have a little chat with one of the Argonians. Since Naeera was still trying to get drunk or make her kidneys explode in the attempt, Screaming-Eagle had gone to sleep early, and Eyes-Of-Silver had disappeared to fuck knew where, that had left him.

_Just your usual luck, huh? Well, look at it this way: at least I'm having fun._

"Listen, sirs, please..." Keram-Rei pleaded, massaging at his temples for what felt like the millionth time already. "I'm sure this is all a misunderstanding..."

"Like fuck this is a misunderstanding!" Major Dhatri snarled at him, palms flat on the desk, eyes narrowed and teeth bared in the most accurate human imitation of a raging Argonian to date. "One of yours slaughtered a goddamn platoon and crippled a lieutenant for life! I call that a hostile action against the New California Republic!"

"This is bound to greatly jeopardize your group's relationships with the NCR." Ambassador Crocker, the short, black man with enormous eye bags admonished him in his would-be mellifluent voice. "Of course, since you currently represent the only ruling body left in the city of New Vegas since Mr. House's untimely demise, we must strive to mend the damage done today and look forward to a brighter future..."

Colonel Hsu, seated in between the pompous little fuck and the roaring old tiger, only kept on giving him his cryptic stare. He finally cleared his throat. "I recognize the horrible crimes perpetrated by Lieutenant Powell and his men, but their execution was a matter for the court martial to decide, not one of you." He dropped it with a sigh. "But there's no way we can ask you to hand her over, since you would obviously refuse, and we can't take her with force because it would be considered an invasion."

Keram-Rei all but groaned out loud in relief. At least someone here spoke plainly, even if against him. He wasn't too open about it or flat out trying to hide it, at least. "Of course, Colonel, Naeera is part of my group, and this is our territory." He raised a brow. "And your true question would be?"

"How?" Dhatri picked up for him, finally dropping the Argonian impression in favor of a glower. "Powell said she killed everyone around him in four seconds. _Four_. Even a deathclaw would take ten times that to chew through an entire platoon. How the fuck did that happen?"

"Oh, for the love of... you said he was _kneecapped_ and he had to crawl all the way to McCarran for hours under the desert sun!" Keram-Rei groaned, rolling his eyes. "Anyone's going to lose it in that time. Far as I know, Naeera's coordinated an assault with the Kings, and your lieutenant didn't expect some gangsters from the ghetto and a lizard to hand him his troops' asses. Besides, serves them right for butchering civilians, anyway."

He bit down his tongue as the three men before him bristled visibly. Maybe he... shouldn't have put it like that.

_Nah, you think? Insulting their troops on their home turf and saying they deserved to be murdered? I'd say it was a pretty good addition, won them over to your side just fine._

_Shut up, you're not exactly helping in this, either!_ Keram-Rei mentally growled. He hurriedly coughed, preventing any of the Californians to speak. He stood up, abandoning the hellish chair, and shrugged. "Now, it appears to me that no agreement can be reached at the moment. I will come back when the situation has calmed down, and until then, I expect none of us to be disturbed by the NCR. Once again, I apologize on Naeera's behalf and hope we can smooth things over." He gave them a fake smile and a perfunctorily courteous nod. "Gentlemen, goodbye."


	29. Red Sand

Eyes-Of-Silver let the wind whisper gently over him, the cold breeze sharpening his senses as he stared up towards the moon. The silvery disc bathed the low rocky hills and the sandy plains of the desert in its argent glow. He had to admit: even though he wasn't cut for the desert, it all had a strange beauty to it. True, it could never rival the evergreen forests teeming with wildlife and spirits in which he used to hunt, nor the snow-capped peaks of his true home, yet... perhaps that was the secret of its appeal. He was alone out there, alone with the desolation of the Mojave itself. Silence echoed all around him. Yes, it was peaceful in its deadly calm, in its extreme thermal shocks, in the monsters roaming it – including himself.

He ended his thoughts with a grim chuckle as he rose up from his sitting position, armour plates clacking together. He spared a last glance to his prey, the first to have truly satiated him since he had begun to hunt here. It had been an ugly thing. A ram by the looks of it, yet much more muscular than its healthy brethren up in the mountain ranges of Tamriel. Its limbs were thicker, its brown fur missing in patches and revealing the raw red skin underneath, its cloven hooves covered in chitinous growths like hardened scales. Its skeletal, nigh skinless head rested in a pool of its own blood; he had broken its neck and torn open its throat, giving the creature a quick death. Though considerably smaller than his wolf form, its spectacular black horns were a force to be reckoned with, talons, fangs and fur or no. His ribs still ached from the successful charge.

He reckoned its own had to hurt just a trifle more, though, seeing how he'd shattered half of its ribcage to reach the insides. Tasty and juicy, true, yet he still couldn't shake off the feeling that the bitter aftertaste had something to do with the freak's tumours. Then again, he hadn't exactly been picky when he'd ripped flesh and sucked marrow, curse his bloody wolf form and his savage instincts kicking in at every opportunity to feast. Ah, still, he supposed he couldn't complain. Anything was better than those gummy, foul, overgrown geckos. Tasted of dust and leather, the little buggers. Good eyes though. They had the consistence of jelly, something he liked quite a lot.

Now that he was done with his hunt, though, he pursed his thin, scarred lips and scratched at the base of a few of his horns. Something was wrong here, he was sure of it. He had never seen this particular landscape before – and while it certainly was a common enough sight in Nevada, the good observer within him easily noticed he was somewhere new.

He had pushed too far into the South this time around, much too focused on finding more prey because... well, all right, he was feeling particularly hungry that night, nothing more. He was a big guy, it wasn't exactly unusual for someone like him to feel a bit empty after a feast. Besides, he had been looking for new hunting grounds for a couple of days now, and these rams were certainly more nutritious than the other creatures he had been feasting on up until then. The question still remained, though, one to which neither his hearing nor his smell had an answer.

Where in Oblivion was he?

The first thing he did was gaze at the stars above. It was hard not to look for constellations such as those of the Warrior, the Steed or the Tower as references to go by. Yet, it was not impossible. He had been on this world for the better part of two weeks, and while he couldn't yet recognize the patterns properly, he found the North Star easily enough. All right, if he followed that, there was a fairly high chance he would spot the Lucky 38 in the distance. At that point, the only thing standing between him and his new home was the pace he set.

Confident in his skills, Eyes-Of-Silver smirked to himself and started forwards, into the unknown. He couldn't really move by nose, considering there was nothing to smell in the first place aside from small, nocturnal beasts whose presence was only confirmed by his enhanced hearing. Back to being forced to rely upon his sight once more, it seemed... at least he hadn't gone deaf and anosmic because of gunfire this time, Divines be praised. This place was only more empty than he would have imagined.

He knew he should have asked for one of those pissing Pip-Boy devices, he _knew_ it. At least he may have contacted someone at the Lucky 38, maybe to have a chat with Yes Man or to check in on Maria while he was at it. Either way, it beat the air's constant murmuring and his feet displacing the sand for what were going to be kilometres. Although, he had to say, wandering all alone out there was starting to feel relaxing.

It sounded about as insane as could be, of course, but when one like him was stuck at all times of the day with a cranky Archmage, an inept battlemage, an extremely perky (and flirty) thief, a cheerful artificial intelligence and a various assortment of local humans... well, he did need a break, every once in a while. So every night he escaped, to hunt and take care of his most basic needs and instincts, and then he returned just before the break of dawn. That way, both he and his wolf spirit were happy. True, it would have been nice to stumble upon a... a...

He couldn't bring himself to finish the thought. The intense, pungent reek of pheromones dragged him to a halt. It had to be two males, and if the sweet scent of blood was anything to go by, they were engaged in combat. He couldn't really make out the species; he only figured they were predators, and large ones at that. They were... hmm, to the West, not far. This would sidetrack him. Honestly, though, what was a slight delay against the adrenaline of battling two great monsters bare-handed? Besides, if his nostrils didn't fool him, he could have sworn the two of them were competing for a female. That ought to make them a bit more crotchety and keep things exciting.

His ruined features twisted into a wolfish grin. There was the fight he had been looking for.

Eyes-Of-Silver made a sharp left turn as he descended the hill, picking up speed with every step downwards. Once he was back into the desert proper, he began to run, charged up by the moonlight as well as by his bloodlust. It had been much too long since he had killed something for the pleasure of shedding blood, not simply to appease his hunger. He wanted it – no, he _needed_ it. Finally, some action! Peace and tranquillity were all good and well, sure, but it was in battle that he truly shone, that he felt _alive_. This was a nice change of pace. Perhaps he could also take their heads as trophies, too. No, not perhaps. Definitely.

His long lopes gradually slowed into a careful prowl as he reached the crest of a low hill, his flesh-and-bone fingers twitching excitedly, each and every one of his teeth bared in a beam. He could hear the fight perfectly now: raging snarls, the hiss of glancing blows, heavy footfalls shaking the sand. He was going to see them soon enough... he didn't want to give himself away just yet, though. A good fight was of no use to him if he died because he'd rushed headlong into an unseen enemy. So, instead of leaping past the boulders and charging with a howl, he peeked over the rocks and towards the ancient highway.

Two great beasts clawed at each other with blinding speed, their talons sharp as swords, their teeth as jagged as knives. Oh, they were hideous all right, what with their blank eyes and haunting faces, and yet so... _majestic_. Reptiles, he was certain of it now. About half a metre smaller than his wolf form and hunched over as if by a great weight, their steely muscles covered by sandy scales as thick as armour; had they been able to stand erect, they would have easily dwarfed him. This way, they were only somewhat taller. Their horns, while impressive indeed, looked rather small for such beings. Another whiff of their scent confirmed they were younger males.

Tails, fangs and claws flashed in an endless tie, as both collected wounds that would have killed a werebear twice over, and stubbornly kept going. He had heard of these things. He couldn't believe to see them in person so soon. Deathclaws, they were called. True, the name was as unimaginative as a Nord peasant and just as silly, but its simplicity aptly described those killing machines.

Where was the female, though? She eluded his nose, and was nowhere to be seen. It made little sense: most species usually stuck close, and then chose the winner to mate on the spot... could it be that this particular race had evolved differently?

Little of that mattered to Eyes-Of-Silver, though. With each passing second, the two males' ferocity passed onto him. He could take on them, even as an Argonian, he was sure of that. He was strong, fresh from a hunt, smarter than the things – he would need neither his axes nor his Thu'um. The two beasts were tired, wounded, and most certainly alone. He smelled nothing else within two kilometres of him. Yes, he could fight. Win. Crush.

So he jumped over his hiding spot and into the gentle slope, cracking his knuckles as he marched towards the menacing deathclaws. Bah, they were no match for him, he had wrestled a couple of healthy trolls before. These vicious beasts couldn't be as terrible as giants, nor Dragons. Every step brought him closer to his fight, widened his grin, made adrenaline flow through his veins. They had the advantage of grace and speed, yet they were ungainly compared to a werewolf, slower than a true Hound of Hircine.

Finally, the two things turned towards him. Their rheumy white eyes stared dumbly at him as they moved to meet the new threat. They sniffed at the air with something approaching doubt, or surprise. What sane creature would ever willingly pass close to two deathclaws, let alone approach them with alacrity?

Of course, with Eyes-Of-Silver, sanity could hardly match his eagerness for blood.

"A'ight, lads, looks like yer bitta fluff ain't showin' up!" He barked at the two beasts, beating his ebony fist against his chest. Had he been able to look at himself, he supposed he wouldn't have looked much different from those two things, snarling, drooling and showing his teeth as he was. Right now, rational thought wasn't his forte. "How 'bout we have ourselves some fun instead, eh?"

The two deathclaws answered with growls of their own. Oh, they were getting mad, ready to pounce on him and try and kill him... or so they thought. Let them come, he was ready for anything. He was the bloody Dragonborn! Or the biggest one around, at least.

The monster on the left moved first. It dashed for him on all fours with its taloned paws, covering the ten or so metres separating them in the blink of an eye, and extended the deadly claws of its right hand to strike. Five sickles sharp as blades rose to strike at him, ready to shear through his armour like butter and shred the flesh underneath, hoping to succeed where Dragons and armies had failed.

Problem with werewolves, their senses and reflexes were heightened drastically. The poor sod couldn't have possibly known that, of course, or it would have spared itself the time.

He intercepted the blow with his left hand, his ebony fingers clutching at the creature's wrist, his grin ever broadening with savage glee. The massive momentum drove him backwards, his feet digging twin groves in the sand and his ebony prosthesis rattling his whole shoulder – yet he held his ground. The talons rapped at his metal forearm uselessly, as though they could find a weakness and cut the muscle where there was none. Before the creature could poise its other hand to attack, however, he grabbed it with preternatural speed and kept it down. He felt veins press hard against his scales as he held the thing back, his strained muscles bulging under the ebony and Dragonbone plates.

The deathclaw roared at him, tried to advance – until it realized it was within biting range, and both of its opponent's arms were too busy not getting ripped from his body to be of any use. It screeched its rage, ready to tear his head off his shoulders. The stench of putrid corpses washed over him. A viscid, slimy tongue snaked in front of his eyes, ready to taste blood. By all means, it had won. He had no escape he could think of.

Then again... he was more of an 'instincts' type of person. Not much room for thought there.

Instead of backpedalling, or even blinking the tears out of his eyes from the rotten air, Eyes-Of-Silver laughed in the face of death. He replied by rearing his head, exposing his throat... and then slamming his forehead straight into the beast's jawbone. The force of the impact threatened to shake a few of his teeth loose. He felt light-headed, and he was sure some of the smaller horns had snapped off; if the piercing shriek of pain was anything to go by, though, the deathclaw had had it worse. He shot the quickest of glances down to see the dark tongue by his feet, painting the sand red as it twitched feebly. His own tongue ecstatically ran over his fangs. The creature tried to escape, but he wasn't about to let it go, not in a million years. It howled goblets of spittle and blood at him, and he ignored them.

"Shut the fuck up, ye gobshite!" He shouted, laughing out loud again at its attempt to scare him away. He smashed his head into its jaw a second time, and was rewarded with a couple of shattered teeth and another squeal of agony; not to mention the scars he was sure to be collecting. This was even better than fighting trolls!

Before he could follow up with yet another headbutt and break off some more of those curved daggers it called teeth, however, talons flashed against his foe's throat. Bright red ichor spurted into his sight, blinding him as the dying deathclaw gurgled and spasmed in his grip. Instead of letting go of it, however, he decided to push back, throw it out of his way even. The beast's weight proved to be too much for him to lift, and he was driven to the ground, pinned beneath what felt like a ton of flesh. He struggled to get out from underneath it, so heavy was the huge bastard. His breath was failing him, his lungs flattened underneath the pile of muscle and claws. What in bloody Oblivion had happened? He'd been wrestling it, ready to strike again and kill it some more, when-

A triumphant roar reached his eardrums.

Eyes-Of-Silver's ragged breathing took on a furious note. That cheeky cunt had cheated! Its rival had been stuck with another opponent, and so it had waited for the right moment to strike back and claim the female all for itself! That cocksucking, cowardly, son of a whore apex predator! His blood began to boil, each of his breaths replaced by growls. Hircine's hairy balls, what sort of great beast could be so pissing spineless and still call itself a hunter? That thing had to die, a werewolf like himself couldn't allow such a backstabbing cock to keep on living.

He took hold of the nearest dead arm and heaved. If he couldn't lift the crushing weight on his own before, then his outrage and anger were bound to help. And if they didn't, he couldn't give a toss about, the wanker had to pay one way or the another – and he was about to make it. It wasn't the whole corpse, and it only weighed about as much as an average person. It was nothing impossible... he just had to push harder.

He finally freed himself from the claws, ready to move with more freedom. So he got his feet under the carcass's chest, did the same with his hands, and applied all the strength he could muster. He kicked at the bloody deathclaw's torso, every muscle of his body threatening to pop through his armour as he tried to free himself. Oh, once he got rid of this dead weight and got that tosser...

With a bellow of effort, he cast the deathclaw aside. He climbed to his feet, his whole body shaking with fury, and started towards the surviving creature. Look at it, the fucking nob, raising its arms to the sky as though it had actually won the sodding fight _fairly_, calling out for the female it thought it had _earned_! It didn't notice him, though, and that was good. He was going to answer stealth with stealth... the git was in for a surprise, no matter how much he despised this kind of approach.

Instead of relying entirely on surprise, though, he jerked the thing's head back towards him just when he was within spitting distance. A hideous mass of fangs and horns turned to meet him, mere centimetres from his own face. It almost looked puzzled.

The knuckles of his left hand hissed steam as he balled them into a fist, striking at the side of its jaw with the force of a giant's mace. The deathclaw recoiled and staggered, but before it could come around and face him, he took hold of the largest and closest of its horns and pulled.

He felt the cracks spread while the beast cried in pain. Music to his ears. It just made him stronger, more willing to take on the fucker. Arms as thick as an orc flailed wildly in an attempt to swat him aside; a couple of well-placed kicks did the job keeping them at bay, even broke a wrist. At last, the horn came free with a snap like thunderclap, accompanied by the creature's howls of agony. It clutched at the bleeding stump on its head almost pitifully, kneeling, begging for mercy like one of his enemies... it was most likely going to recover in seconds, though he liked it better to see it that way.

Eyes-Of-Silver snorted at the pitiful sight and shoved the horn straight through its eye. It thrashed under his hands as he pushed the shard deeper and deeper into its bleeding socket, driving it further in with his palms when he couldn't grip the impromptu dagger any longer. "Why don't ye just fuckin' _die_ already!"

Before he could begin to roar louder and beat the horn in with his fist, though, the tip must have pierced the brain. It twitched just once as it collapsed into the sand, dead like the other _decent_ and _fair_ deathclaw. Done and done. He let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. Merciful Gods, and the people of the Wastelands were so scared of these huge _milksops_?

"Yeah, that's what ye get, ye cocksucker!" He snarled at the dead monster. Where anyone else would have screamed in joy or run away, not believing their luck, he punched its teeth again to vent his affront. "Ye pissin' wanker! And ye call yerself a hunter?! Back in Skyrim I would'a-"

A deep, guttural caw cut him mid-sentence. Before he could continue to sass the dead male (who had entirely deserved it), he turned around to meet the source of the noise, and frowned. Unless one of the wrecked cars had in some way attained sentience, there was nothing there that could have possibly done that. His nostrils were clogged with blood at the moment, so he couldn't really be certain of the smell there, but sure as Oblivion he could see nothing that even vaguely resembled a living being...

Wait, where had the bloody thing perched on the lorry come from?

It was certainly a deathclaw, no doubt about that. It crouched and stared from the top of the rusty wreckage's trailer, almost all of its features hidden by the moon shining behind its back. Surprisingly, though, it didn't pounce on him with fury, and neither did it caw again. It just patiently waited for him, head tilted and jaw shut. Was it perhaps... curious? Of course, seeing two of its brethren slain by what had all the looks of an evolved deathclaw, it was probably thinking about legging it and alerting the whole nest, distant though it may be. Perhaps it was simply studying him.

Eyes-Of-Silver's bloodied brows shot up when the beast crawled down its perch with the agility of a spider. Its paws didn't make so much as a sound, be they on metal, asphalt or dust. As it moved from the shadows and slithered into the moonlight, he saw scales white as his covering its muscular form. Its empty eyes never left his; they sized him up from head to toe, as though the creature could see through his armour and gaze at his very soul.

It stood hunched over at his very same height, eye-to-eye with him – which appeared to be rather short for a young deathclaw – and what few horns it possessed were pointed downwards. Its posture and movements gave him no sign of hidden treachery or open hostility, not even annoyance at this invasion of its territory. Not that he was scared of a tinier monster, anyway. He could have slain it in a heartbeat, if need be. He only wanted to be prepared for anything, and right now, that anything was the unlikely prospect of a peaceful deathclaw.

It wasn't until it stopped a mere few rank breaths from his head that it glanced over his shoulders, at the two carcasses he had left behind. Well, technically one, but had it been a fair fight he would have definitely been able to kill both. At any rate, he supposed a beast couldn't really ask him about the little brawl that just took place. It stared at the corpses, looked at the blood on him, and squawked twice. It probably thought he'd slaughtered both.

Oh, right, this had to be the female then! Of course, he should have realised it earlier, seeing how it had all started as a mating contest to begin with. How was this going to go, though? The two contenders had met their fate at his hands. With them dead, what could she possibly do save for fighting him or going away in disappointment? There really weren't any males around. Well, not if he counted...

All of his bloodlust and excitement drained away in the blink of an eye.

Himself.

He instinctively took a step back, ready to kill the thing at the first sign of movement. He had both done and experienced many a strange things in his life, like the time he had been asked by Spriggans to answer a riddle or when he'd had to fight his way out of a meeting hall filled to the brim with angry hagravens – but never something quite like _this_. True, that deathclaw was beautiful... in the twisted, monstrous way of its kind; and it most definitely was a strong hunter to boot. So much as he missed the company of a female, though, he wasn't that desperate, nor that out of his mind, _nor _so depraved. Perhaps for the first time in his life, he was actually feeling nauseous.

"Do not come any closer." Eyes-Of-Silver growled, not quite managing to sound angry enough – just nervous. Needless to say, his own voice sounded alien to him. By Talos, he didn't _crack _when he wanted to be menacing. "I do not know why I am even attempting to speak to a savage beast such as you, but I am warning you: begone!"

Well, he couldn't expect a deathclaw to be fluent in English. It took a step forwards with a questioning coo (if the rumbling noise it emitted could even be called that way, he wasn't too sure). He clenched and unclenched his hands, ready to tear its horns off at the first sign of danger, but... it didn't attack him, and he saw no reason to brutally butcher it with his bare hands. The other deathclaws had annoyed him, and one in particular had been an _absolute twat_, so that had been entirely justified. This one simply stared at him, sniffed his armour, drummed the tips of its talons against his chestplate. It was just... measuring him up.

Incapable of communicating with it, he could only resort to talking to it like a madman. He placed his original hand on its snout to keep it at a distance, cleared his throat, and did his best not to look away from those blank orbs. "I am not a member of your species, I am an Argonian. I cannot mate with you, since it would be unacceptable for a myriad different reasons for both me and any possible society I shall live in. Besides, you are not my type, and I have absolutely no idea how it would work in any case." He moved his ebony fingers in order to make it step aside, waving it away. "Now, you have the choice to stay here and admire the carcasses of your suitors for as long as you desire... or you may return to your nest, wait for another male to fall in love with you, and happily spawn more monstrosities to infest and ruin the Mojave."

He tried to ignore the fact it had been actively licking his hand for the entire time of his speech. Something approaching a chill of unease tingled his spine. When he removed his palm, though, it stayed put. He suppressed a smile for fear of jinxing it. Perhaps there was hope for him to rid himself of this beast yet. He motioned for it to remain perfectly still one last time, took a step back, and finally turned around to resume his march back towards the Lucky 38. Now, up there was the North Star, so it stood to reason that-

He was pinned.

Eyes-Of-Silver turned around, ready to draw his axes if necessary, when he noticed the deathclaw holding his ebony tail in both hands, crouching down and sniffing at its tip. He blinked, shook his head, tried to think of the situation in order for it to make sense. None of that worked. He found himself staring in fascinated horror as the beast raised one of its fearsome, taloned hands, placed it gently on his snout, and began to growl, caw and squawk at him.

Bloody Oblivion, was it... was _she_ mimicking him?

He swatted the hand away with an angered snort. He ran his fingers through his horns, unsure of how to get rid of this creature without killing her, when he noticed she made the exact same gesture. Only it sounded a lot more like knives being dragged on sandpaper than anything.

Oh, that was the final nail in the coffin. There was no way he could ever walk out of there without lugging the beast around, he knew it. He tentatively raised an arm, and she did the same. He growled at her, she growled. He turned to one side, she made the exact same movement... by the Gods, it was like looking at some twisted mirror. Except that when he was completely still, the deathclaw all but bounced around in excitement, attempting to get him in her grasp, weren't it for the fact he constantly dodged her moves.

Well, on the bright side... he supposed having one of these monsters around _might_ come in handy if he was in a bit of a pinch. True, he was going to have to make sure she didn't try her damnedest to mate with him, not to mention care for her and bring her along on his hunts. Wouldn't want her to starve to death because she was confined somewhere. Yes, his wolf form would need much practice on the whole 'instincts' department, but it was nothing impossible. Probably.

At this point, this whole affair could only be classified as insane.

"All right, you may come." He sighed out at last. Pointing down at the ground to his immediate left, she prowled up to his side, cooing and trying to rub her head on his shoulder as she did so. He surrendered to her affection with a mildly disgusted grimace. "That bloody Greybeard was right, a discombobulating and most befuddling thing indeed..."

* * *

After what might have been an hour, in which he had been forced to avoid twenty-eight overt mating attempts, he and his overly-attached companion had reached the outskirts of Old Vegas, mainly comprised of low prefabricated buildings which had been abandoned for well over two centuries. They were by all rights inside of the city limits, the Lucky 38 and the surrounding buildings shining their dazzling lights from relatively few kilometres away; yet there was no one to be found here. Curious, how not even the most despised of outcasts ever took refuge in there, preferring either certain death or the safety of the more solid houses close to the centre of the city. He supposed that between assorted raider gangs, NCR troops, beasts and other abominations, maybe dying of dehydration or starvation in the middle of the desert was less painful after all.

Not that he could afford to distract himself to think, of course. Every bloody second he didn't pass watching that lecherous deathclaw was a second she may have employed to jump on him and slam him into the ground. It had already happened thrice – and she looked ready to make another go, bearing a striking resemblance to a cat crouching to pounce on a table.

To prevent her from trying, Eyes-Of-Silver backhanded the creature with his ebony hand. She squawked questioningly at him, managing an expression of betrayed trust (even though it barely had any facial muscles to begin with), but he only replied with a glower and a snort. "Since I cannot express myself in your language, I shall try with mine: _sod off_." He slowly enunciated, careful to drag out the last two words. "Stop harassing me, or you may indeed succeed in arousing me, and I will have officially reached my all-time low in-"

The harsh crack of gunfire interrupted him. He stopped at once, his head snapping to the right the same exact time as the deathclaw. Eastward, still inside the city ruins, over seven hundred metres away. Downwind, he couldn't smell how many of them there were; judging by the number of firearms, his best guess was 'enough to give him trouble'. He distinguished the constant rattle of machine guns, the weak, if decisive, bark of pistols, the roar of shotguns – even the deep thunder of a sniper rifle. Any other time, he would have thought twice about getting into a fight with advanced weaponry, especially after McCarran. Inside of Vegas, though, there was only one reason for that many guns to be in the same place... and it caused his fangs to grind against each other, his nails to dig into his palm, his blood to boil in his veins.

Fiends.

He slapped his hand onto the deathclaw's shoulder and began to run as fast as his heavy armour and the wrecked cars on the streets permitted. He had no need to look over his shoulder to see if the creature was still with him: that monster would have followed him through the Planes of Oblivion and beyond, if only for a chance to have him. It didn't take long for her to match his speed. The volume of gunfire increased more and more with each passing second, the wild hoots of his foes growing more intense, the screams of the beleaguered innocents turning more desperate.

With the last turn to the right, he found himself on the exact same avenue as the Fiends. He could see them up ahead, a couple of hundred of metres in front of him, by an abandoned petrol station. Even from this far away, though, he noticed these weren't the average raiders roaming the ruins of Las Vegas. Their skin was too white, their armour too scant, and it appeared they employed a semblance of tactics in their attack. True, it was a savage rush towards the few people barricaded in there, but it seemed a little bit more organised than what he would have normally expected. Whatever, maybe they were part of some other gang or tribe or crazed herd, he didn't care. He had a score to settle with the bastards for taking Maria. Any savage would do.

He knew he had to ready himself when his nose and ears went numb. The acrid smell of gunpowder overpowered his nostrils, the thunder of guns nearly deafened him. He grabbed the axes from his back, but instead of clasping them together, he held one in each hand. It had been too long since he had fought like that. He could enjoy more blood, more death, more _carnage_ that way.

Eyes-Of-Silver bellowed a bloodthirsty warcry as he leapt over the last wreck between him and the fight. He saw a man bring his fire axe to bear; this raider was pale, covered in bone white powder which clashed against his black braids, and his face was painted red. Before the human could realise what he had tried to stand up against, his own axes had already cloven him in two from neck to waist. Gore spattered against his exposed scales, his armour, clung to his blades. He took a moment to appreciate the fear he'd struck in these men and women's hearts, as their eyes widened and they broke the siege to meet this new threat. Surprise, awe, terror succeeded themselves on the poor sods' faces.

His deathclaw pounced onto a woman, fangs sinking into her flesh and claws splitting her open. The beast kept on mauling and savaging the body as though she'd been personally insulted by her presence. If she was just hungry or she was trying to intimidate them, he didn't know. He only knew he approved. The effects on his enemies had to be the most satisfying he had ever witnessed. Oh, if only he could hear them scream and pray to their gods for deliverance...

He licked his lips for added effect, and to finally taste blood as an Argonian. That ought to provide him with a nice rush, no matter he could neither smell nor taste anything at that point. It was the gesture that counted. He started forwards with heavy stomps, made sure the ground trembled with each step he took. He was their doom, and he'd better look and play the part. No fun in killing them too quickly for them to even understand why they were missing their arms.

Another woman gathered her wits about her, raised her drum-fed submachine gun and opened fire. He felt the shots erratically impact against his armour plate, chipping and chewing away at it, sometimes even exposing the scales underneath and lodging themselves into his flesh. Soon the others equipped with ranged weaponry joined in, no matter their poor aim or even poorer weapons.

The wounds were nothing more than an annoyance to him. There would be time to treat them later. Right now, these bee stings only fuelled his rage.

He wasted no time in jumping into the fray, and started swinging his axes wildly. The line of fire of the ranged fighters was blocked by their comrades, leaving him plenty of meatshields to hide behind as he tore into the bulk of the raiders' party. Each of his blows was rewarded with spurts of blood and flying limbs, flowing entrails and torn bodies. He batted aside their gauntlets and fiery swords like pointy sticks, only to maim those brave or foolish enough to provoke him, make them pay for their stupidity. Through it all, laughter began to bubble up from his chest. It started as a giggle, then a snicker, then full-blown hysterics the more death he dealt. Yes, slaughter them all, send them off to their cursed gods as they screamed and ran for their lives! _This_ was the true joy of battle! _BLOOD!_

The deathclaw had now joined in, picking off the fools that tried to run or feasting on the fallen corpses. He dispatched the few remaining men with ease, soldiering on as the shotgun blasts cracked his armour open and ripping the legs from underneath them. This bloody street had to be painted red, the bodies of these savages had to be nailed onto the walls and wrecks to show what he could do, send a message to the Fiends' wretched kind – and for his own amusement. Pain was meaningless to him, so long as he inflicted even greater agony on his foes. Too bad he could neither hear their dying breaths, nor smell the scent of their ichor.

Eyes-Of-Silver was still cackling madly when he spotted the last man standing run towards him, swinging his armoured fist wildly over his head. A dark helmet covered his face, decorated by a skull's painting on the visor and a bison's jaw hanging from his neck. A giant of a man for most, nearing seven feet and burly as a Nord... a pathetic midget for him. Still, it was a desperate charge, and this poor bastard was sure to die anyway. He commended him for his courage; he would have done the exact same in his place. So he spread his arms, bared his fangs in a broad, manic smile...

And watched him tumble to the ground, a fist-sized hole pierced through his heart.

Oh, bloody Oblivion, not the NCR – he was having fun now! He trampled the fallen body with a growl of contempt when it crumpled in a heap at his feet, but made sure to rip off the gauntlet and helmet to keep as trophies. To the memory of the only raider with an actual pair of balls he'd met tonight.

All right, anyway, it stood to reason the marksman awaited somewhere ahead of him, perhaps taking advantage of some wreck to hide him or herself. There were bound to be more soldiers, anyway. So he raised his eyes, looked around, and felt the last remnants of rationality leave him as he saw the men that had stolen his kill.

He counted five soldiers clad in leather armour, donning red capes and metal plates to denote their importance. One of them was a fair distance away from him, cocking his heavy rifle ready from a rooftop, the moonlight glinting off the weapon's scope. Two more appeared from their cover; one mounting his light machine gun's bipod on a car's bonnet by the intersection, the other taking aim with his assault rifle, safely hidden behind a van. Bright red crests had been mounted on their helmets, mockeries of Imperial centurions, like the crudely sculpted muscles on their cuirass. Another two walked down the street towards him. The man on the right carried a hunting rifle, slung at ease across his chest at the same angle of the twin bandoleers. The last one took point, marching on, proud in his armour salvaged from sports equipment and cheap steel, smirking underneath the coyote skin wrapped around his head. He stopped a good twenty metres from him. Smart decision. One hand rested on the pommel of his sword, the other held high a crimson standard that fluttered and flapped in the breeze.

Emblazoned on it was a rearing golden bull.

The man began to speak, possibly in a pompous voice that brook no argument and announced their total victory. He honestly refused to try and read his lips; the only thing he could think of by watching his mouth was how quickly he could ram his fist down the vexillarius' throat and tear out his lungs. Legion scum, bastard, son of a whore! Even a slow and painful death was much too merciful for a man of Caesar. After what they had done to Maria... the only way out he could see was butchering the small team, no questions. They had him in his sights, and it most likely meant a suicidal charge to his own demise.

Still, a quick glance told him the sniper was focusing on the deathclaw, who was too busy feasting to help him out. Go figure what that mentally-challenged slag thought about in moments like these. The man at the light machine gun never tore his eyes from him, while the rifleman and the guard had the petrol station covered. If he moved, he was as good as dead. And if he didn't die fighting, then he would have been kneeling to the Legion...

Given the alternatives, he made his choice.

Eyes-Of-Silver's grip on his left axe tightened. His ebony fingers clutched at it as though it were the vexillarius' throat. There was no way he could survive this. He wasn't afraid, though. If it meant one of those Legion fucks could die by his hand, then so be it. He made an imperceptible turn to the left, hefted his weapon by a centimetre, drew in what could have been his last breath. If this went well, then there were five more kills added to his tally. If not... Sovngarde awaited.

"Yeah, I'm sure ye're right, mate." He scoffed, using his right axe to wave him off. He gave the legionaries a last, defiant smirk as the vexillarius' expression changed from arrogant to puzzled. "I've got an answer fer ye. _Piss off_!"

With blinding speed, he hefted the axe in his left hand and hurled it towards the man. The litres of adrenaline flowing through his veins gave him the impression time had slowed down, as if to make him admire what had to be his last kill. In the fraction of a second it took his foes to realise what he had just done, his axe had already covered those twenty metres. It cut through his neck in the blink of an eye, lodging itself into a lorry's tailgate as the legionary's head came rolling down to the ground, neatly encased in the pelt like a New Life's Festival present.

He only had an instant to face about and bolt for the cover of a rusted roadster. And even then, it was a forlorn hope. Still, that didn't stop him from trying.

With no hearing to rely upon, he only felt the first bullet impact into his left shoulder – where his jugular had been a moment before. His ebony arm belched out sparks and went stiff, while the impact nearly threw him off balance. A burst of rounds chewed through his backplate and dug into his flesh. Fatal wounds, he was certain of it the moment his breath caught in his throat. Pain seared the tortured nerves in his back; he knew ribs had been cracked, some of his organs had been hit. A trio of shots pierced his thigh, one more grazed his exposed neck. Crippled and dying. He couldn't have asked for a better death, in defiance of his most hated enemy...

Yet, he made it. He was going to bleed out and die in a matter of minutes anyway, but the notion of a solid hunk of metal between himself and the hail of gunfire sweetened every agonising breath he took, no matter that he had to spit and retch blood to keep himself from suffocating. The edges of his vision began to blur. Not good, that was bloody terrible, he had to get a potion fast. He fumbled with the satchels still attached to his armour, only to realize the one he needed was on his left. Balls. He ripped the lid from the bag with his shaking fingers and pulled out the first bottle he found. Ah... was it red, or purple... or maybe brown? He couldn't really tell. Things couldn't go any bloody worse anyway, worth a shot. Between certain death and a chance of living, he'd go for the second any fucking day.

Eyes-Of-Silver swallowed down draught and blood in equal measure. Nothing happened for crucial seconds, but he was fairly sure the most severe bleeding had been stopped. Or so he hoped. But yes, barring the fact his whole left arm was now useless thanks to that cunt of a sniper, his movements brought him slightly less pain than before. He didn't see that black and red edge around his field of view any more. Good, that was... good. Blood stopped pouring from his lips and back. Not safe, not by a long shot, but alive and in lingering torment was better than dead. That was perfect for him right now.

Crawling up to the edge of the fender, he saw three men still standing. Quite unsurprisingly, the vexillarius hadn't gotten up – and it appeared his guard had joined him in Elysium or wherever the pissing cock these Legion gits went. A white lightning slammed into and upturned the car behind which the machine gunner hid, putting an end to his suppressive fire and crushing him under two tons of rusted steel. He felt the violence of the impact up to the tips of his horns. There went the third one.

He ground his teeth in frustration. He couldn't hide there like a fucking coward while his pet ran around wreaking havoc and taking all the blood and glory for herself. Seeing how the deathclaw bounded towards the sniper's nest with glee, he came out from his cover, axe at the ready. The last rifleman was stuck reloading his assault rifle with amazing calm for someone facing certain death. All of the man's attention was directed towards the monster leaping from car to car. Good luck hitting that.

Eyes-Of-Silver bid his time limping to his target – after all, he was the bastard who'd shot his leg, he felt it. Couldn't just dash up to him and chop his head off, that wouldn't have cut it. He dislodged his beloved Dragonbone weapon from the lorry and set it back in its resting ring, then headed for his prey. When he was close enough to read the writings on the cases expelled by the legionary's gun, he put his axe in its place on his back, next to its twin.

He spun the man around, took the assault rifle from the his hands, and bent its barrel upwards, casting it to the ground with disdain. When his prey tried to back away, he kicked him square in the chest. This time, he felt the sternum shatter viciously. He licked his lips. He kept on growling as the man gasped for air like a doomed trout on a fisherman's boat. Despite the injured leg, he managed to kneel over him and stare through the darkened goggles. Wide, flint grey orbs stared back with every ounce of panic they could convey. This man hoped to survive and tell the tale. Perhaps he'd heard of Vulpes Inculta's assistant, how he had let him live to bring a message to Caesar himself. Yes, maybe he was expecting to be graced.

Eyes-Of-Silver dispelled those hopes when his fist came crashing down the metal mask. Hopefully the nob hadn't been knocked out when the helmet bent inwards. That would've been a shame. Ah, too fucking bad. He punched his face again. This time, he felt bones break with the impact. Again, and again, and _again_ he kept on hitting him.

After the fifth punch, the front of the skull caved in. He didn't stop pulping the cock's brains until after he felt himself beating the asphalt. The massive cunt had forced him to limp, _him_, who relied on speed almost as much as he did on brute force. That was a fairly simple way for him to sod off into Oblivion, and much too quick for his tastes, yet he couldn't deny its charm.

He blew out a grudgingly satisfied snort, stood up, and wiped his hand on what was left of his chestplate. Men's heads used to be more resilient in Skyrim – especially Orcish ones. He could go on punching one for even half an hour without this shit happening so soon. This little git had taken him what, one minute? By Talos, he hadn't even broken a knuckle... ah, at least he supposed they were all dead, as his deathclaw chewing on the rather unfortunate sniper confirmed. Killing Legion was a reward in and of itself, he guessed.

Well, since the battle was done, it was time to get back to the reason he'd come here in the first place. He'd risked his life and, for a fraction of a second, his bloody _honour_ for those innocents, so he'd better hear what they had to say instead of just reading their lips. They ought to be singing to him by now like priestesses of Dibella. He cracked his neck, but when he tried to do so with his back, lances of pain told him that... perhaps stretching could wait for a bit. Time for another potion to restore his hearing, then.

A small flask and an unpleasant taste of sugar later, his eardrums were blessed with silence and the whispers of the wind. Smell wasn't of much use anyway, since he could only pick up shed blood, acrid smoke, and ruptured intestines. The iron taste in his mouth didn't feel too bad, though. He wondered how much of that belonged to him... come to think of it, perhaps not all of it. He was fairly sure some came from the legionary with the mushed face. Eh, still blood, he couldn't really complain. That was the way success was measured – either the enemy's blood, or his own.

He watched the deathclaw happily trot back to him, shreds of human flesh lodged between her fangs, ichor dripping from her jaws and staining her white scales. Uncertain of what to do to make her stop staring at him with what he could only identify as insatiable hunger and primal lust, he patted her head with his only functioning arm. He repressed a shudder as she pushed against his palm and fucking _purred_. Xenophile freak.

Faint murmuring and the shuffling of feet got his attention back on the petrol station. He wasn't too sure of what his nose relayed. If his ears were to be trusted, however, he would guess there were around half a dozen people holed up inside. It wasn't a good position – not that he was an expert on defence or enduring siege, he could count on his fingers the times he had been forced to stay put and see the enemy off instead of charging blindly into the fray – but at least the boarded windows did the job in hiding the movements.

"I have repelled the attack and dispatched both the savages and the men of the Legion, you have nothing to fear!" Eyes-Of-Silver announced to the barricaded building, perhaps with a voice a bit too deep and loud to be anywhere near reassuring. And if that wasn't enough, then his blood-soaked ravaged armour, his collection of scars and his pet deathclaw just completed the perfect picture of a nightmare. "Lord Hircine be my witness, I swear upon my honour and my pride that I shall not lay a hand on you, so long as you do the same. You are safe, and you may come outside."

Complete and utter silence answered him. A small, hushed argument followed between what had to be a small gaggle of men and women, although... he couldn't really understand the butchered tongue they were speaking. It went on for about a couple of minutes, perhaps more. Just when he was about to tell them he didn't have all night to waste for indecisive and ungrateful nobs that might have not been worth the effort of saving after all, he heard a series of locks and hinges rattle behind the doors. A couple of guns clacked ready.

Then, the twin doors opened.


	30. Wounds

The greatest sign of anticipation from Eyes-Of-Silver was a stifled sigh. After the miniature massacre he and his easily aroused beast had just carried out, he wasn't expecting much. The asphalt, the facades of the buildings, the very _air_ were drenched in blood and gore. Oh, he'd ached for a rush like that, to miraculously avoid death for the... what? Hundredth time? Bah, he'd lost count.

At any rate, the encounter couldn't have been anything to look forward to. Some scared settlers or caravaneers at best, with looted weapons they couldn't even operate properly. He was probably going to have to signal their position to the NCR. That was, if they didn't take him down first after Naeera's little stunt. He would have much preferred to go home, get out of his armour and repair his arm rather than to deal with civilians and hear them thank him and mewl what would have happened if he hadn't been there to save their miserable hides... but that would have clashed with his whole idea of honour and glory. So there he was, stuck, waiting for a farmer to crawl outside and fall at his feet.

Needless to say, he was quite surprised to find himself staring at a living, embalmed mummy sternly step out of the main doors.

The man that walked out of the petrol station was covered from head to toe in bandages, no spot left uncovered save for his piercing blue eyes and the old, leathery skin around them. Now, he was no expert on the subject – since he had no magical abilities save for his Thu'um and he had yet to test his flamethrower – but he'd seen plenty of friends and foes alike scorched by fire. The faint stench of pus hanging about this would-be draugr clearly identified him as a burn victim. He wore a black bulletproof vest covered in pouches, faded white letters barely legible on its chest. Underneath it, a white shirt and a pair of torn and patched-up jeans hid the rest of the gauzes from sight.

He stopped some three metres or so from him, glared, and aimed a finely crafted pistol squarely at his left eye.

Had he possessed any feathers, they would have bristled at once. Was this the man's idea of a joke? To hold his rescuer at gunpoint for no apparent reason other than to practice his scowl and pose? He had _not_ gone through all that _shit_ and nearly gotten himself _killed_ by the _Legion_ just to be threatened by a little burned _man_ and his shiny Colt _handgun_. What did this wanker think he was doing? Sure, looked like he'd survived a fucking fire, but his fangs knew how to be much more effective. He could at the very least holster that pistol up his ass, teach him some manners. He only needed one sign. One slight gesture, and he would vent out the entirety of his rage on the git.

However, when his deathclaw hissed softly and stalked forwards, he took hold of one of its horns with his good hand and pulled her back into obeisance. He still had the impression the situation could be salvaged in one way or another... maybe.

She understood at once, squatting down next to him. That didn't prevent her from growling along. Which she was perfectly entitled to, given how everyone here in the Mojave had this funny tendency of not being able to properly show gratitude. It would have taught the man some respect all right if he'd let her loose.

Eyes-Of-Silver spread his remaining arm in an outraged and questioning motion; the other remained locked at his side, the inner mechanisms truncated at the shoulder and in dire need of repairs. He narrowed his eyes, bared his teeth, and all but snarled. "I'm sorry, mate, what soddin' part of 'you are safe' ain't clear to you?"

"The part where a godless, savage abomination speaks of safety after it has butchered men like cattle and laughed in glee through it all." The mummy replied in a hostile, if a bit muffled, tone. A gravelly voice if he'd ever heard one. "Had we known what awaited us, we would have preferred to fight the White Legs ourselves. Make no mistake, _thing_: we see you and your beast's presence here as a sign of Providence, yet _I_ can see you are an unholy monster in the eyes of the Lord. You are a raging fiend." He snorted from the depths of his dressings. "You sicken me, hellspawn."

Something inside of him snapped like a shattered femur.

"I AIN'T ABOOT TAE LET A BANDAGED COCKWAMBLE WRAPPED UP LIKE A HOWLIN' PRESENT TALK TAE ME LIKE DAT!" Eyes-Of-Silver roared back, balling his fist hard enough for his bracer to crack and fall off. What in the name of all that was holy was holding him back from crushing his skull? Who the fuck did this bastard think he was, acting all high and mighty when all he'd done was hide away? "Yer bum's oot da windae if ye think a doaty cocksplat like yerself can _insult me_! I saved ye an' almost got meself killed, fer feck's sake, so show me some respect, _shut yer geggie _an' _feck off_, ye hackit shitgibbon!"

This time, the man's aim wavered. It was entirely possible he'd been confused by his choice of words. Heated up as he was, though, he attributed it to his intimidation skills and grunted in approval, made to pursue the argument and scare him back into whatever bloody sarcophagus he'd slithered out of.

Before he could further indulge in his rage, however, another man came hurrying from the shadows of the petrol station to get between them. This one had the sense to keep his wooden-stock submachine gun shouldered (which was much appreciated) and slowly lowered the pistol held by his friend.

His dark chequered shirt and wide-brimmed hat were terribly worn, encrusted with dust and dirt... and they also looked quite ridiculous. They wouldn't have been out of place in one of Keram-Rei's Old West holomovies. A lone bead of sweat trickled its way down into his thick beard as he cleared his throat. Surprising, how he reined in his frayed nerves. He could smell his fear from there.

"Both of you, stop, _please_, there's no need to kill each other and do the White Legs' work for them." The new guy spoke. The pretense of calmness in his voice made the werewolf's lust for blood recede a little bit. He turned his blue eyes on him (another one with blue eyes, really?) and nodded once in what he identified as gratitude. "I've got no idea who or what you are, but... we can't thank you enough for what you've done. Don't take my friend's words to heart. We need any help we can get, now more than ever."

Eyes-Of-Silver snorted, shooting one last glare towards the bandaged man – one which was broadly returned. Instead of verbally stomping the bugger, however, he decided to try and talk to the reasonable one. So he, at the very least, straightened his back. "Yeah, dat was all I was askin' fer. A thank ye." He huffed out, shrugging his only real shoulder. "Got a lot o' questions, but fer yer sake, I'll keep it short. Might I ask who're ye?"

The mummy was definitely about to spout out some more of his righteous zeal and whatnot, but the other held him at bay with an exasperated glance. It seemed as though the two had an history of not seeing eye to eye. A little bit like Screaming-Eagle and Keram-Rei, if anything. Or – Gods, he hoped they weren't like _that_. What a horror that would have been.

"I'm Daniel, and my rash friend here is Joshua." The man presented himself with another scowl towards the mummy. Well, at least they had names. "The White Legs have destroyed our homes and tribes weeks ago, and have been hunting us ever since." He had to take a pause, draw in a deep breath, and swallow down his emotion as he spoke. "We, and the other five still in the building, are all that remains of three hundred souls."

Eyes-Of-Silver raised a brow. Oh, that... changed things quite a bit. Divines above, their homes and families were _gone_. Hist only knew where they came from, if they'd been on the run for _weeks_. There was a fairly high chance these tribes of theirs hadn't even lived in Nevada. He decided not to chuckle and ask how much they had pissed these 'White Legs' off, though. Wouldn't have been tactful – not even by his standards. These two looked exhausted, drained. Hunted down, alone, unhomed...

He knew something about that. Fuck, he knew _too much_ about that all right. Still, he had no idea who these people were, or what they had done to deserve that treatment. They may have been his enemies, for all he cared. That sounded unlikely. The Legion had wanted them. Anyone Caesar didn't like, he respected. Didn't mean he had to like them in return.

Offering them an understanding nod, he grunted his greetings. "Me name's Eyes-O'-Silver. Now, I don't know what ye're hopin' tae find here, but-"

Five talons gouged into the exposed flesh on his back.

He was above howling in pain; he'd collected far too many wounds to even care about it at that point. His nostrils flared with rage when he backhanded the moronic beast for her attempts at seducing him, drawing a couple of broken teeth and an alarmed caw. Blood began to drip down his scales, onto his tail and into the asphalt. His nerves screamed at him, but he had more important business to attend to.

"WHEN DA FECK ARE YE GONNA REALISE I AIN'T A BLOODY DEFFCLAW, YE SLAG?!" He bellowed into her bleeding face, ignoring the sketch of fear in her white eyes as he glared straight into their murky depths. "I'm a feckin' Argonian, _Argonian_! Uvva' species! I ain't gonna shag ye, so get it outta yer 'ead an' stop breakin' me balls! Me armour's gone, so ye'd better stop wi' dat creip before I beat ye senseless!" Instead of hitting the stupid thing, though, he threw his arm up to the heavens. "Akatosh, Kynareth an' Talos! Fer all I know, I could'a gotten meself a talkin' 'un complete wiv' reinforced armour, a bloody mohawk an' a feckin' gun dat talks like a drunk Nord – but _no_! Nah, I had tae get da horniest, most pigheaded an' retarded deffclaw dis side o' da bloody Mojave!"

Before he could continue to subdue his rather frightened and absolutely idiotic monster, his eardrums took note of the complete and utter silence all around him. Ah, _fuck_... he was going to have to explain _that_. He grunted one last warning into the deathclaw's face, succeeding in making her wince, and ran his only usable hand over his eyes. Right, perhaps throwing a tantrum in front of distraught, worn and impressionable people wasn't the brightest idea he'd had all night.

Although, in hindsight, maybe it actually _was_. His true rationality was only coming back to him about now and... _Nine Divines above_, nothing of what he'd done so far made any sodding sense.

Eyes-Of-Silver let out a long sigh, braced himself, and turned back to his interlocutors.

Joshua had, obviously, trained his gun back into his left eye without so much as a flinch. Daniel hadn't quite taken his submachine gun in hand yet, but he was just about reaching for the stock to pull it out of its holster.

It got better, of course: now even the people inside the petrol station had also decided to take a good look at the hellish brute that was supposed to be their saviour. All crammed into the bloody doorframe, wide-eyed and slack-jawed in the way typical of people as simple (or ignorant, _or savage_) as... gah, _tribals_.

If their scant clothing weren't enough of a giveaway, the young man on the right was covered in tattoos from brow to toe, holding onto a wooden club carved into the rough shape of a horse's head. A couple of bald women were there, too; at least one of them appeared to be more than capable of handling herself in a fight. Especially with that... bear hand she had. The other was too frail, despite her apparently young age. Worn out, either physically or mentally.

Yet his jaw threatened to go slack, too, when he found himself staring at two children.

A pair of little boys, paralysed by fear and young enough to be Maria's brothers. He really had no idea why _everyone_ there had blue eyes, yet of one thing he was sure of: none of them were as intense as those two toddlers' lapis blue orbs... so similar to Maria's. The adults he couldn't really give a toss about, of course, since he considered tribes as a sort of failure on civilised society's part – but the way those two stared at him, on the verge of tears, stopped him altogether.

What manner of beast did he even look like right now? His armour was shredded and cracked. The flesh underneath was either torn or covered in equal parts by scars and scales. Everything was hidden by a layer of drying blood so thick as to almost numb his nerves.

By Akatosh, what if... what if he had terrorised Maria instead of them? Every image that thought conjured was her weeping, or running away from him... hadn't it been for that doll of hers, she may have very well screamed herself hoarse and cried her eyes out. Was this _really _how a child saw him?

Divines, what if he'd met her this way? What if she'd been with this ragtag group of wretches, traumatised by the loss of everything she held dear, every single one of her friends and relatives slaughtered before her eyes? What then?

Would he have been able to tell them to sod off because he didn't want any of them around the Lucky 38, an empty bloody tower that had easily over two hundred rooms both above and under the ground? Because he wasn't used to helping people in any other way besides killing what wanted them dead, and to Oblivion with other requests? Because he didn't want to deal with the consequences of Screaming-Eagle's hissy fits? Or Naeera's renewed flirting at the thought of his heroic deeds? Or Keram-Rei's... well, all right, maybe he was the only one who wasn't about to hate or love him more for what he was doing.

These seven here were desperate – and although the mummy could merrily go fuck himself with his beloved pistol, he couldn't deny he'd probably held them together as a leader. Daniel was sure to be his friend, and the others... they gave him an impression of innocence. Or what was left of it after weeks in the Mojave, at any rate. They weren't real fighters. They depended on those two.

Ah, bollocks. He hated this sort of moments.

"All right, all right, hellfire and bloody damnation – _fine_!" Eyes-Of-Silver chuffed out through clenched teeth, as if they had been incessantly pleading like puppies for him to take them in. The way they looked at him, they may have very well been, for all he cared. He wasn't too fond of feeling emotional like this. Anger, fake or not, helped him focus on the matters at hand. "Fine, I may have a temporary solution for your plight." He held out his forefinger to forestall any possible eruption of joy. "Yet remember, 'tis _temporary_, not in any way, shape or form definitive, for I cannot say for certain how you shall be treated if one of my acquaintances were to discover you. Do not thank me, merely limit yourselves to following me. Furthermore, you must remain at a distance of at least five meters or fifteen feet from me and the deathclaw – _at all costs_."

* * *

Maria had almost surrendered to the fact she couldn't fall asleep. No matter how hard she tried, no matter if she forcibly kept her eyes open or if she closed them shut and hugged the pillow, she just couldn't.

How could she, when Mr. Wolf was out on one of his hunts?

He'd explained to her one time that his _wolfy_ part, the one that was all fuzzy and soft and had even bigger teeth and claws than usual, needed to go for a walk every night, especially to run free and eat what he didn't during the day. She didn't question how that worked, because she was sure there was some super complicated thing going on and she'd get confused the first five seconds he told her. What had really surprised her was how he didn't like what Ray cooked. Really, Ray was amazing, and he came up with something new every day! Did he really prefer stinky animals over good food?

As always, he'd dismissed her by ruffling her hair and laughing like rolling thunder. Said she wouldn't really understand.

She pouted when she thought about the answer, deciding to crawl out of her impressively soft blankets to take her glass of water. So she straightened the large, flashy pink nightgown Nee had given her, got her fiery red hair out of her face, and sipped thoughtfully. She wasn't stupid, she would understand if she told him why he had to eat animals and he couldn't just ask Ray for something. Nee always told her she was the smartest kid she'd ever met. That had to mean _something_, right?

Honestly, none of it really mattered to her. She just wanted him back. She really had no idea how to know what the clock hanging from the wall said, especially since the only light came from the outside and the clock ticked away in the dark side of the room, but she was sure it was later than usual. He always came home at around the time when...

The elevator dinged.

Maria did her best not to spill water everywhere at the sound. She slammed the glass a bit too forcefully against her bedside table, putting on a pair of fluffy pink slippers with square teeth and a pair of floppy ears (courtesy of V), and stumbled up to the door. She'd learned how to properly turn the knob at one point, but whenever she was excited she somehow forgot how everything worked. She eventually managed to get the door open and run down the hallway with barely a noise. He was still in the hall, he hadn't come there yet, so if she went left really fast she could hug him while he was on the stairs and-

Turns out, he was just around the corner.

Mr. Wolf had been ready for her, though. Instead of letting her smash her face into his Dragon armor, he caught her just in the nick of time with his giant hand. Maybe he'd heard her coming with his wolf ears.

Maria couldn't care less about that at the moment. She couldn't keep herself from jumping all around him and sticking her arms up to have him hold her up. She'd forgotten how to speak properly, she only giggled excitedly. He was back! Had he brought her something? Oh, maybe it was something like a... wait, why wasn't he hugging her?

The sensation of wrongness only increased as her grin fell away. She noticed how her chest was all sticky and wet where he'd stopped her. The thick smell of iron hung around him, all but dizzying her. His breaths were loud, labored, punctuated by an inconstant drip-drop on the padded floor. It was too dark for her to see properly. What was wrong?

"Maria." Mr. Wolf chuckled in his deep voice, like a mountain talking. It turned into a masked cough near the end; more stuff dripped on the ground. "I am back. Forgive me, I have been... delayed."

Even in the remote chance she remembered how to do it, Maria now couldn't speak. Her throat felt too tight. She held a hand against the armor on his legs to calm herself, make sure he was alright. When her fingers only met a hole and pulsing, wet, raw _flesh_, she couldn't mask her gasp of horror.

She heard him sink to his knees with a big thud. One of his giant arms encased her protectively, brought her head closer to his heart so that she could feel reassured. Even that didn't help. It beat too fast, _too fast_, and... why wasn't he hugging her with both arms? She tried to wrap her own, tiny arms around him, and held him tight. He was supposed to be _industrable_ – and _industrable _things didn't get broken like he was right now. If only she could keep him together with that hug and make sure no more pieces fell off...

Maria had to swallow at least three times to undo the knot in her throat. She noticed her vision go a little blurry around the edges. Why did it have to be so dark? She wanted to see him. "Mr. Wolf, you're hurt."

That didn't even begin to cover what he had to be feeling. He was soaked in _blood_. Wherever she touched, huge patches of his armor just weren't there. Not just that, he must have been bleeding, too, because more of that liquid pattered to the ground. His heartbeat and breathing were all wrong, and his back had to be bent, somehow... but he wasn't in too bad a shape. She was sure he couldn't have been talking if he was hurt too badly.

"Sorry." Mr. Wolf whispered to her, finally admitting something _was_ wrong. "I... had an accident. I encountered quite a few bad people, and they were... awfully smart as far as bad people go. Or perhaps I have been more foolish than usual." A smile seeped into his words. His embrace softened. "Yet I have won, as you can see."

She felt like melting away into a puddle in relief. If he could ignore his pain to make her feel better, it definitely couldn't be too bad. The moment he let her go, she took a step back to at least pretend she could see him, especially to get away from the holes and blood and convince herself he really was fine. He was only a bigger, darker shadow in the general pitch black of the main hall. He was invisible. Yet a lonely ray of moonlight was more than enough to make his smiling silvery eyes shine.

"I have a task of utmost importance for you, Maria." He continued, all businesslike. As reassurance crept back into her, she found herself straightening up and nodding. If he expected something from her, she wasn't going to disappoint him. "I need you to go downstairs, on the floor just underneath this one, for you have to help Naeera's... friend with something." Despite the distaste he put in the words 'Naeera's friend', she heard him chuckle again. "And please, while there are new people there, I would prefer if you were to let them sleep peacefully. Do you think you are up to it?"

She cocked her fists on her hips with determination, puffing her chest as she did so. Who did he think she was? She could be silent, and she could be of great help when needed. "Of course!"

Mr. Wolf got up to his feet with a laugh. He ran a hand through her hair, and ruffled it softly. "Now _that_ is the spirit! While you go, I shall have Eagle have a look at my wounds. Worry not, 'tis nothing serious."

Now that she was sure Mr. Wolf was safe, she climbed the steps three at a time to do what he'd asked of her. New people? If he had trusted them enough to bring them in, then he had to be absolutely, completely certain that they were good. Plus, she'd been downstairs a few times, she knew the general layout of the place. Lots and lots of bedrooms there, she'd counted all her hands and feet. According to what Eagle had been teaching her, that meant there were... _twenty_. Yeah, twenty.

As she entered the elevator and pressed the button just to the left of the glowing one (which indicated the floor she was currently on, according to Yes Man), she heard glass crack, like a pot falling. The doors were closing fast, so she didn't have much time to really understand what was-

"EYES-OF-SILVER!" She heard Eagle scream at the top of her lungs. Maria wasn't too sure whether she was mad, scared, or just annoyed. The thing she was sure of was that she sounded _scary_."WHAT IN OBLIVION HAVE YOU-"

The elevator's doors slid closed, cutting her off.

Okay, Mr. Wolf was in big, _big_ trouble now. No going around it. She didn't worry too much about it. He and Eagle were friends, so it wasn't like something _that_ awful could happen. She was positive that Eagle would calm down like she did with Ray, and she was going to heal Mr. Wolf and not make him hurt anymore. True, she could be a little harsh and strict _and _Nee didn't like her, but she was good, and smart. Not to mention a great teacher.

With that in mind, Maria felt more at ease when a loud _ding_ rang over her head. A moment later the doors parted like steel curtains, revealing soft cream carpets, beige walls and ceiling, and dark wooden doors lit by gentle lights above. She knew her way around the place. She remembered there were four hallways, for example: one just in front of her, one to the left, another to the right, and the last behind the elevator – which was right where they all started. All the lights had been turned on, maybe because Mr. Wolf didn't want these new people to stay in the dark.

The first thing she heard when she stepped outside was the loud yawn coming from somewhere to her right. She turned around in time to see a tall blonde man in striped, white-and-blue pajamas shuffle awkwardly towards her, one hand holding on to a heavy leather bag, the other adjusting a pair of black glasses over the bridge of his nose.

This had to be Nee's friend. She'd seen him once in the afternoon, but she hadn't really talked to him. He probably hadn't even seen her, worried as he'd been with Nee and all those bottles she was lugging about and how she was shouting at him to let her drink in peace. Now that she had a good look at him, she had to say he was... clumsy, in the way only tall people could be. He looked friendly enough, if a little sleepy. Dull blue eyes, blonde hair sticking up everywhere, a skin a bit too pale for someone from the Mojave...

Why didn't Mr. Wolf like him, though? Did she have to be afraid of him or something?

Eh, he was Nee's friend though, so she guessed it was all good. She flashed him a big grin and waved, eager to see what Mr. Wolf had wanted her to do. It had to be something super important, since he usually never let her do anything. "Hi! I'm Maria! Who are you?"

"Uh, hi." He mumbled out, confused. His glasses fell down onto the tip of his nose. "I'm... Arcade. Are you lost? How did you- wait, is that _blood_?"

"Nah, s'not mine, it's Mr. Wolf's, and he said I had to help you." She dutifully told him, then remembered there were people resting. So she took a step forwards, glanced around, and stood on the tips of her toes to better whisper to him. "But we can't wake up the new people. They're sleeping." She smiled again. "Can I call you Archie?"

"Well, ah, yes, of course. I guess?" Arcade – _Archie_ answered. Then he blew out an angered snort, scrunched up his face at nobody in particular, and raked his fingers through his own hair. "_Of course_ this is the help he sends. Expect anything from a blood-drenched monster who wakes you up by growling 'blonde fairy' in the middle of the night..."

Before she could try and reply to what he'd just said of Mr. Wolf, possibly by illustrating how many awesome things he'd done and how he sounded nothing like he'd just grumbled, Archie waved her off and yawned. "Anyway, since you're here now and wasting words on _him_ is going to help absolutely nobody save for my bruised ego, let's see what we can do about this mysterious task."

Maria's only answer was a suppressed squeak of joy as she followed him around the elevator and into one of the corridors. Tonight was definitely getting better and better. First she got to do something useful that Mr. Wolf himself had told her to do, then she could even make a new friend!

"So you're Nee's friend?" She began to ask, tilting her head. "Because you're kinda clumsy, and tall, and I was 'specting someone short and quick like her, and you're a lot different. How did you two meet?"

He didn't turn around; in fact, he didn't even bother to hide his sigh. "Let's just say we were both unfortunate enough to help the same woman, and fate decided we should stick together and improve the lifestyle of a good chunk of Vegas by disrupting my sleeping schedule." Then, he_ did _glance over his shoulder. "What about you and... 'Mr. Wolf'? How could a sweet little girl possibly meet that _brute_?"

"He kinda turned into this big fuzzy wolf thing and saved me before an ugly bad man could hurt me." Maria answered matter-of-factly. The... memories weren't all that pleasant, so she decided to avoid getting specific. She just giggled when her new friend-to-be's eyebrows touched his hairline. "The Legion wasn't 'specting him, 'cause they're all dumb and mean and he's like super smart. Then he took me to his other friends, Ray, and Eagle, and Nee, and Becky - but he went away that night and got me really scared, but he came back so it was all good. And then we met V, and then we found out I'm magic and I can do magic stuff when I get better at it 'cause Eagle and Ray are my teachers, and then we got here. Then some big mean robots attacked us 'cause a guy called Mr. House didn't like us, but we won, and Mr. Wolf kicked his butt really hard, and now we live here. Then Nee dis... _dispeared_ for a few days, Ray and Eagle had dinner together and found out there were bad people in Vegas that ate other people but they solved that, and then you came here when Nee came back - and now Mr. Wolf went out to hunt animals and found these people, and then he wants us to do something, and that's why you met me at the _al__evetor_."

Archie had ground to a halt in the middle of the hallway by the time she'd started talking about her friends. Now he was staring at her wide-eyed over his glasses, which had fallen on the tip of his nose again. His eyebrows had _dispeared_ somewhere under his hair. His mouth was open, like he wanted to speak, but the only thing he managed to do was blink.

Maria just shrugged. Did her life sound that weird? Hmm, maybe it did. She wasn't too sure about it since, well, it was just the way things were. She'd gotten used to it. Instead, she glanced to a door right behind Archie. Unlike any of the others in there, a square of paper had been pinned to it with a... jagged, _green_ knife?

Unsure of what to do, she walked past her astonished new friend and tore the piece of paper down. Huge blocky letters had been scrabbled hastily on it – even poking through in places. As for what it said...

"Uo... uh... _Wor-work_..." She attempted, narrowing her eyes and sticking out her tongue in concentration. She had been learning how to read properly for quite some time now, but she still had a long way to go. Mr. Wolf's weird handwriting didn't help matters one bit. "Fo... fur? No, 's _for_. _Work for_... _fairy_?" She turned to Archie with a frown. "What's that mean?"

In the way of a reply, he took the piece of paper in his free hand, crumpled it, and threw it behind his back without so much as a blink. His ears turned a funny shade of red. "It means we're in the right place."

Realizing what that meant, Maria opened the door for him – he was the guy who knew what to do, after all. She was there only to give him a hand. He nodded his thanks as he entered the room. She followed suit, closing the door behind herself and staring at the brightly-lit bedroom. She saw drawers, a table, padded chairs, an entrance to a bathroom, a row of windows that gave her a good view of the whole Vegas. She liked the place, it felt clean. Everything was in different shades of white, like the darker carpet, the light wood of the furniture, the silky cream covers for the big bed right in the middle...

On that bed was a lady.

She lay sprawled on her back, groaning and muttering in her sleep. She had long, red hair like Maria's, and her chin and cheeks had soft edges to them – but that was where the similarities ended. For starters, she was much too pale to be healthy. She looked feverish, she was shivering. She had a really bad smell to her. Bitter and pungent, something like Nee earlier, but much stronger. The stench stung Maria's nose as soon as she took a step forwards. She... smelled like pee, and a little bit like puke, but she had no idea what the strongest reek was. Nothing she'd ever smelled with the Legion, that was for sure.

The clothes were all weird, too, like in one of Ray's holomovies about people with guns that rode these huge things called _whorses_ or something. She wore a weird brown leather jacket on a pink shirt that barely covered her belly, with white lines and shapes crisscrossing on it. She also had a pair of old blue jeans and dark boots. All of that was covered in all sorts of dust and caked stains, not to mention the patches, holes, and tears.

If the smell made him queasy, Archie didn't show it. He dropped his bag on a nearby chair and marched towards the lady in silence. With precise, cautious movements, he turned her over on her side, raised her head, and bent her arms and legs forwards a bit. After that, and only after that, he allowed himself to snort disapprovingly. "He carries a drunk woman here, and he doesn't even put her in the recovery position..."

Maria trudged over next to the sleeping lady. She couldn't help but feel the little knot in her throat tie itself again as the woman whined in her sleep. "Why... why isn't she waking up?"

"Alcohol poisoning, dangerous." Archie hummed, more to himself than to her. "Hypothermia, pale skin, irregular breathing, unconsciousness..."

That sounded terrifying, especially because didn't know half of the words he'd said. Still, he needed her calm, she couldn't afford to panic or start crying because that lady was in danger. She had to _focus_. She couldn't help anyone if she cried, and she was just going to make things worse if she panicked. She had to keep her cool – like Archie.

He calmly walked up to his leather bag and pulled it open, rummaging through it about as quickly as Eagle left alone with a jar of cookies. The way he moved, the sounds that came out of it and the time it took, there must have been a thousand different things in there. Glass, plastic, paper, metal... it had to be like Ray and his bag. She wondered if this one was enchanted, too?

He grunted triumphantly when he pulled out a small box. It might have been made out of tin, painted in a sky blue paint as intense as Ray's armor. She noticed tiny yellow writings on it, too small to really make out what they said. It had to be some sort of medicine – and if this woman didn't wake up when someone moved her, then she needed it badly. Archie himself had said it was dangerous.

He appeared to be really focused when he took a small tablet out of the box and popped a single pill into his palm. He didn't even face her to talk, he just carried on scanning the lady, keeping his free hand on her neck. "Maria, could you bring me a glass of water, please? I could take it myself, but... I would rather avoid taking my eyes off of her. She doesn't look good."

The request put Maria in motion at once. Eager to prove how useful she could be, she trotted to the bedside table and grabbed the crystal glass with just a pinch more strength than necessary. She skirted past Archie and into the bathroom, the only place she could think of to get water – it still felt odd to move a valve and have clean water come out of it, just like that. She would have been more at ease with a well. Nevertheless, she reached for the sink and turned a small white handle, putting the glass underneath.

A second or two were more than enough to have it half filled with clear, see-through water. She brought it to Archie as though it were a sacred artifact of sorts, holding it with both hands so that it didn't slip.

Archie dropped the tiny pill in there without even looking or whispering a 'thank you'. He took it gently from her hand to bring it to the lady's pale lips. He slowly poured the contents inside of her mouth, holding it closed and clamping the nose.

Maria couldn't help but hold her breath. How was that going to work? She was sleeping, she couldn't drink anything that way, wasn't that dangerous? Why didn't he let her breathe? Oh no, was he trying to-

Apparently, it worked. The lady struggled – which meant she scrabbled her fingers against the pillow in protest – but she finally swallowed. Almost at once, her stiff joints eased, her breathing grew less troubled, she stopped growling in her sleep.

Maria let out a long breath she'd forgotten she was holding.

Archie touched her neck and nose some more for... some reason, maybe to see if she was good. After he was done, he wiped his hands on his pajamas with a smug little smirk. "Ah, the wonders of Pre-War medicine." He finally turned to meet Maria's eyes for the first time that night, and gave her an approving nod. "Thank you, Maria. Now it's only a matter of waiting for our intoxicated Sleeping Beauty here to wake up, and constantly monitoring her in case there is an unexpected development."

She nodded with... a little less enthusiasm than before. She was all for helping and trying to be of some use – and until Archie specifically said she could go, she would do her best – but... waiting for something 'unexpected' didn't sound as appealing and helpful as she'd hoped. Didn't 'unexpected' mean that they literally had to stay there until something that was unlikely to happen _happened_? She wasn't all that useful if she just had to sit and watch. Still, he might have needed her for something, who knew. Maybe to fetch more water.

"To monitor someone, you usually need specialized medical personnel." He continued when she didn't move. "And, while you did a great job, I doubt you have attended any medical school. You would also need to know how to insert a tube to facilitate the patient's breathing, give them an intravenous drip to stabilize the alcohol levels in their bloodstream, and fit them with a catheter to make sure no... unpleasant accidents happen."

This time, Maria limited her reaction to a blink.

"It's a lot of really boring and gross stuff that takes a doctor like me to do right." Archie added in a lower, more sincere voice. He stifled a yawn and smiled. "Now, why don't you go back to Mr. Wolf and tell him everything is under control, maybe get some sleep? It's important for a child to sleep well."

Oh. _Oh_, he was telling her she was good to go! She had gotten worried with all the talks about professionals and all those weird words he'd used. For a moment she thought she would have to learn that stuff to give him a hand when she didn't know more than half of those terms.

Maria flashed him a big grin and waved energetically at him. "Goodnight, Archie!"

"Goodnight, Maria." Archie replied softly as she trotted out of the door, closing it behind her back so that if any of the others woke up, at least they wouldn't disturb him.

She had to say, he was a really great guy. He had to be super tired, and yet he'd decided to stay with the lady and make sure she was safe while Maria went to sleep. She could totally see why Naeera had made friends with him.

Why didn't Mr. Wolf like him, though? There was nothing wrong with him that she could think about. He was good, he was nice, he helped people, he had a bag that was definitely magic... was it because he wore glasses?

Yawning loudly and rejoicing in the fact she was _finally_ getting sleepy, she shrugged. She could just ask him when she got upstairs, no big deal. Just the time to get into the elevator, push the big button to the right of the glowing one (since she'd had to press the one on the left to go down and now she had to go up) and tell Mr. Wolf that everything was okay.

So she took a turn at the end of the hallway, got into the elevator, made ready to push the big button to the right of the glowing one, and-

Froze.

Her breath caught in her throat. She couldn't move, she could only shake and grip at the doors to hold herself up; her knees couldn't do the job anymore. She couldn't be seeing that, it couldn't be him walking down the hallway and straight towards her, it just _couldn't_.

His skin was covered by bandages, hiding the fires of hell that burned and raged underneath. Blue eyes like glacial flames stared ahead of him, the flesh around them scorched like the Canyon out of which he'd crawled. His armor drained all light, pieced from midnight itself and capable of stopping bullets and rockets alike; his legs wrapped in shards he had torn down from the sky and woven together with the tendons of the men he'd killed. Boots of deathclaw hide shielded his feet, those same feet that had crushed the thousand skulls of the men, women and children who had made the mistake of begging for his mercy. He had none. Just hatred.

Up to that day, he'd been nothing more than a legend to her, a myth to frighten unruly slaves and slacking soldiers back into work. The bigger legionaries had said he wasn't real, the ones with the shiny armor and the masks and the huge hands, when they'd come to take away an old man who'd spoken of him. Just a silly ghost story.

But ghosts didn't make any noise when they walked. Ghosts didn't need to enter the elevator and stand up just one foot away from her, they didn't need to clear their throat and raise a naked, leathery eyebrow at her.

Maria huddled up as far against the corner as her body allowed her – but she never broke eye contact with him. No matter that her vision had begun to blur with tears, how hard her heart hammered away, she had to keep him where she could see him. This wasn't happening.

The Burned Man had come for her.

"Are you alright, child?" He asked her with a voice like grinding bones. He dropped to one knee, to examine his prey better. "Is something wrong? Can I help you?"

Maria frantically shook her head. He was a vengeful spirit, he was trying to trick her into letting him close so that he could drink her blood. Her eyes stung hard, but she couldn't blink. She blinked and she was dead.

"Ah, of course... you've heard of me." The monster sighed from under his bandages, rolling his eyes. He rose to his feet, dusted at his knees, and stared back down at her with the eyes of death itself. "Who knows what sort of stories you have been fed. It pains me to say that most of them aren't so far from the truth as they seem... I won't get any closer, if that can reassure you." He put his hands ahead of him in a calming gesture; the bandages on his face shifted in accordance to small smile. "You have nothing to fear from me. I only ask one thing of you: I must talk to the... _creature_ you may know as Eyes-Of-Silver. Can you bring me to him, please?"

She didn't believe him for one second. He was right about one thing, though – she was getting him straight to Mr. Wolf, so that he could deal with him and kick his ghost butt from the top of the Lucky and make sure he never came back.

She cast the briefest of glances towards the rows of buttons and crushed the one to the right of the glowing one with her fist. She couldn't stop the tears running down her eyes. If the elevator wasn't fast enough, she was dead.

The doors slid closed, locking her with the Burned Man. She didn't want to die like that. Why couldn't it go up quicker? It was just one floor!

"Thank you." He said in a low voice, like the whispers of the dead rising from old graves. He was acting in a really weird and odd way for the Burned Man, she had to admit. Yet, she knew he was ready for anything, from how he held his hands by his belt and tapped at the chrome buckle, the way he didn't look at her, to the happy song he hummed under his breath to make her feel at ease...

With the most melodious ding she'd ever heard, the metal doors vanished back into the walls.

Maria flowed outside with the stale air, and took a big lungful of the clean, cold breeze of the Presidential Suite. Even in the dark it was beautiful, gave her certainty. She was saved. The others were coming, she heard her steps downstairs already, she had nothing to fear except for-

"Screaming-Eagle!" Ray called aloud. Weird, she could have sworn he sounded... worried. "Come on, Eagle, please don't-"

The noise of a club beating on flesh cut him off. He yelped in surprise, and pain; he spat something on the floor.

"DON'T YOU EVER FUCKING CALL ME 'EAGLE' AGAIN, KERAM-REI!" Eagle howled like a pack of hungry coyotes – and oh, she sounded so _mad_. Maria began to think that _maybe_ the Burned Man wasn't so bad as a mad Eagle. "I CANNOT BELIEVE I EVEN _FELL_ FOR AN IDIOT LIKE _YOU_!"

The lights of the main hall came on with furious thunderclap, stabbing at Maria's eyes. What was going on? What happened? What was wrong with Eagle?

She looked down at the stairs, and saw Eagle storming up the steps like a frenzied deathclaw, her staff drilling holes through the carpet every time she slammed it by her feet; fire sparked out at every step. Her eyes were lit by flame, all of her fangs bared as she growled, her face so twisted and distorted by rage she couldn't even recognize her. She was already wearing her everyday gray robes, with all the satchels and pouches hanging from their straps, like she was when they had walked through the desert.

Ray marched unsteadily behind her, holding his bleeding jaw in both hands. He, on the other hand, was wearing a simple red tunic and a pair of red pants, like he'd just gotten up. Nee followed, barely wearing anything as usual, with the smuggest grin she could manage while she gestured for a reluctant Mr. Wolf to follow and have a look. He massaged his temples with his only arm as he shook his head; all of his wounds were gone, along with most of his armor, his metal arm and his smile. Becky and V stumbled after him, too sleepy and dazed to do anything other than gape at Eagle.

Nee let out a wry laugh, and spread her arms wide. She was the only one who looked happy in there. "Come on, leaving so soon, _bitch_?"

"OH YES, NAEERA, I WOULD RATHER _DIE_ THAN SPEND ANOTHER GODDAMN MINUTE WITH YOU MINDLESS FUCKERS!" Eagle screamed at the top of her lungs once she reached the top of the stairs. Maria had to clutch at her ears. She'd never screamed that loud, or... said any bad words. This couldn't be the same Eagle she knew. "YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO DO ONE THING, _ONE_, AND THAT WAS STAYING PUT – AND YOU FUCKED UP SPECTACULARLY! FAN-FUCKING-TASTIC! SHIT, OUT OF ALL THE POSSIBLE DRAGONBORN, _I_ HAD TO END UP WITH THE RETARD, THE BRUTE, AND THE _WHORE_!" She threw her arms up in rage; a lightning bolt blasted one of the chandeliers from the ceiling with a deafening _crack_. Crystals pattered down like a sharp, piercing rain. "YOU ARE _USELESS_!"

Mr. Wolf raised his hand to try and calm her down. "Screaming-Eagle, please, you are not thinking clearly about this, just let us-"

"I'M THINKING MORE CLEARLY THAN I'VE EVER FUCKING DONE IN THESE THREE FUCKING WEEKS, EYES-OF-SILVER!" Eagle mercilessly cut him down. She jabbed a finger in Nee's direction as if to gouge her eyes out. "ALL IT TOOK _YOU_ WAS ONE FUCKING DAY TO DESTROY OUR RELATIONSHIPS WITH THE GODDAMN NEW CALIFORNIA REPUBLIC – WHICH COULD CRUSH US IN THE BLINK OF AN EYE IF THEY WANTED!" She aimed her staff at Ray as though she wanted to blast him through a window. "_YOU_ GOT THEIR DIPLOMATS AND OFFICERS ANGRIER THE SAME NIGHT, BURNING YOUR ONLY CHANCE TO GET SHIT DONE!" At last, she shot Mr. Wolf a glare that could have melted desert sand to glass. "AND _YOU_ FELT FUCKING ENTITLED TO DRAG REFUGEES AND A GODDAMN DEATHCLAW IN HERE WITHOUT CONSULTING ANYONE ELSE ABOUT IT!" She vented her frustration on the ceiling with an ear-splitting shriek. The temperature in the room dropped; frost rimed the windows and railing, the carpeting hardened. "I'VE HAD _ENOUGH_! YOU HAVE BEEN TRYING MY PATIENCE FOR MUCH TOO LONG, AND NOW I'VE RUN OUT OF IT! I'M LEAVING! _GO FUCK YOURSELVES!_"

At first, Maria's only reaction was to let her jaw hang slack. When her words got clearer and louder, though, she couldn't hold the tears back. What... why was Eagle leaving? Why did she have to be that mad with her friends?

She tried to walk up to her, tug at one of the folds of her pelts, but her legs didn't work. The only thing she could do was cower out of her way, make sure she didn't notice her and didn't say more bad things to her. She didn't make a sound, she only let her tears streak silently down her cheeks, tried to flatten herself against the railing. She didn't want to hear her get any angrier.

This... this wasn't Eagle. This had to be somebody else. The Eagle she knew never did anything like that. She was calm, and smart, and she never said any bad words, and the angriest thing she could do was snort and slap Ray – not hit him with her staff and make him bleed. She only made unkind comments towards Naeera, she didn't scream at her. She was friends with Mr. Wolf, she didn't think he was a brute. This couldn't be her. She was afraid to get any closer.

Lucky for her, Eagle didn't even spare her a glance. She made a beeline for the elevator, her feet sputtering fiery sparks, her staff cracking with lightning. Instead of taking the Burned Man and dragging him outside, though, she just stopped right in front of him. Maria couldn't see her face. She was glad she couldn't. She didn't want to see that expression on her ever again. Eagle was so ugly and scary when she was angry...

"I need the elevator." Eagle growled at him plainly. She didn't even raise her voice. It was even worse when she kept it down like that. "Get the fuck out, whoever you are."

"Hmph, have you no more words for me, _thing_?" The Burned Man scoffed, as though he were facing Maria, not Eagle. He even folded his arms across his chest in challenge. "Will you try and intimidate me with your screams?" He snorted. "Please. That white devil couldn't; I don't see how _you_ could."

Eagle said nothing to him. The only thing she did was slam her staff once against the ground, extend her hand, and tap her fingers on her wrist.

The Burned Man flew out of the elevator.

He hit the ground with a dull thud that shook through her slippers. He rolled onto the carpet like a broken toy, crashing against the railing and _bending_ the metal. He was the ghost of a merciless, evil man... and now he was groaning. He couldn't get up on his own. He was the nightmare of every slave, every legionary, even Caesar himself feared him...

Eagle had tossed him aside like a ragdoll. She'd made him feel _pain_.

She entered the small cubicle with a satisfied grunt. Then, the instant she turned to face the controls, her eyes met Maria's. For the briefest of instants her mask of rage cracked, showing a pang of guilt... then she punched the buttons and disappeared behind the curtains of metal.

Maria slid down from her support and sat down the ground with a sigh. Oh, thank _everything_ she hadn't come out especially for her to scream awful things into her face, or hit her, or howl some more at her friends. At least nobody could see her so _furious_ again. She'd been frightening. Good thing she was gone now...

Maria's relief gave way to horror.

Eagle was _gone_.

Frantic feet ran up the stairs to her right. Ray burst into her field of view and headed straight for the elevator, shouldering the two slabs of steel like he could open them with his bare hands. He slammed his fist against them once, twice, thrice, until he left a red mark on them, let out a wordless, frustrated shout and kicked them. "Gods-fucking-dammit!"

"Come on now, you can't tell me you miss her already after all the shit she said!" Nee snapped from downstairs in disbelief. "She hates us! Good riddance, I couldn't stand her anyway..."

"Hey, you're used to fucking so many people, how about you _go fuck yourself _for once, huh Naeera?!" Ray snarled back at her. He grabbed both of his horns as Nee laughed out loud and the Burned Man moaned, holding his ribs. "Man, _fuck_..."

Maria finally found her voice and coughed. That got Ray's attention. "What... what happened?"

"Look, I... I don't know, okay?" Ray blurted out, waving her off as though she weren't even there. Blood streaked his cracked lips and jaw. "She was stressed. She had to be, after all she told me. This... well, this is it." He ran a hand through his feathers. Was he _crying_? "Fuck..."

Heavy footfalls came up the steps as she found her footing again. Maria blinked the tears out of her eyes, wiped at her face with her long, pink sleeve, and looked up at Ray. "But she'll come back, right?"

Before he could reply, Mr. Wolf came up to her and swooped her up with only one arm and his laughter. "Ah, come on, you need not worry about Screaming-Eagle now. I am certain she will return tomorrow _at worst_."

Maria pressed her head hard against his chest and nodded to herself. Yeah, maybe... maybe she really was going to come back tomorrow. Maybe she was going to apologize to everyone – even to the Burned Man, whom Ray was helping get up – and they were all going to be happy again.

… Right?


	31. Leashed

The scorching gales blew with crushing force. The sand scratched, tore and blinded like a wild beast's talons, roaring and howling in unison with the storm. No man or woman could have hoped to survive in the burning blizzard without shelter. The sun itself had been blotted out, plunging everything caught in the whirlwind of loose earth into darkness.

Screaming-Eagle couldn't be bothered to care.

She spurred Arvak for speed, her own rage brighter than her ride's ghastly fire, hotter than the desert's wrath. The sandstorm was just a mere annoyance – nothing she couldn't fight by pulling up her cowl and masking her mouth and nostrils. She didn't need her eyes, she trusted her horse's hollow sockets to find a path through the storm, as far away from the Lucky 38 as she could go.

She swore to the Divines, the Hist and all of the Daedric Princes, that was the last straw. She couldn't endure those stupid, moronic, insolent, insufferable, damned, cursed, _fucking_ idiots a second longer. Her teeth ground against each other at the very thought of their faces. What in Oblivion could she have expected from a mindless fool, a blood-crazed beast and a thieving whore in the first place? That they listened to her, worked with her, pretended to act like they cared instead of turning her every waking moment into a living hell of madness and nonsense?

She blew a snort through her mask, eyelids closed shut against the unforgiving winds. Keram-Rei was only an idiot who couldn't even do his job if he didn't have someone to point him in the right direction, so she could hardly blame him for his poor decisions – he was much too stupid to even think of the consequences of his words. Always eager to impress her with his childish ideas, tricks and words... how _naive_ of her to have fallen for that. She should have known no intelligence could hide behind that grinning mask of doltishness. Dragonborn? _Him? _Bah. She would have never believed it possible if she hadn't met him in person.

When Eyes-Of-Silver came to her mind, her grip on Arvak's bones tightened. That monster was insane, a two-faced demon who showed a civilized facade only to conceal the bloodlust simmering under the surface. The fact he had dragged seven perfect strangers to 'save' them from some savage enemy (savage compared to him?) and had then tamed a fiend of the wastes only cemented her opinion. He was an unstable, unpredictable creature, as eager to show an honest smile as he was to use those very same teeth to rip one's throat out. His hands were just as ready to comfort his little pet child as they were to rip a man's head off his shoulders. No wonder he was a Dragonborn, those Nord barbarians must have loved him the moment they set their eyes on him. He fit perfectly in the ancient, backwards, brutal Skyrim.

And Naeera...

She slammed her heels into Arvak's charred ribs as though they were the thief's temples, drawing an incorporeal, pained whinny she utterly ignored.

That bitch had the gall to contrast anything she said. Each and every single one of the whore's actions seemed to have the common goal of irritating, angering, infuriating the Archmage. Every movement she performed, every word she spoke, every breath she took had an amazing way of getting to her nerves for a thousand different reasons – her vulgar sensuality and sexuality, her veiled threats, her ear-grating laughter, her endless amusement, her pathetic 'heroine of the slums' sense of justice. Her very _existence_ might have excluded the Divines', for how could they allow that thing to live and torment her? There was nothing that could redeem that rat's life, she was useless. The more she breathed, the more damage she caused to those around her, the more she fooled everyone and hid the truth behind those abominable, unnatural breasts and that impish little smirk. What she would have given to wipe it off her face for good...

Now the New California Republic may have very well invaded New Vegas for all she cared. They had all the reason to. Good for them, at least all the troubles of that den of sin would pass into an actual nation's hands. Those three pitiful glory hounds would see some sense for the first time in their worthless lives, after being stripped of their dreams of grandeur and greatness. Maybe _then_ they might be worthy of any consideration, when they were done interrupting her every thought and considering her emotionless just because they were so dreadfully open about everything they did and she wasn't; when they finally understood a modicum of sanity wasn't so hard to find within their twisted minds, and when they realized just how so maddeningly rude they knew how to be.

She wanted to be left in peace both by them and by the humans with them. She wasn't cut for socializing with the local scum, be they presidents or homeless men – they were the descendants of the same madmen who had destroyed a whole world in the name of greed and hubris. She wanted nothing to do with any of them, no matter who they were or what they had done. They shared those monsters' blood, they were tainted. They had partaken in causing her misery – the very stars were aligned against her, she felt it.

They had to be cause of this Gods-damned sandstorm cutting through her scales and bones, too!

Screaming-Eagle tore the shawl from her face with a howl of frustration. This whole world was standing against her, everything hated her – and she had had enough of it. Enough of the sand, enough of the sun, enough of the ruins, enough of the beasts, enough of the people, _enough of everything!_ Nothing in this barren desert was right! Everything defied logic, reason and decency!

She raised her eyes to the veiled and churning skies, ready to screech all of her rage to the hellish gales, ready to choke their howls, ready to make things go the way she wanted at last.

"_LOK VAH KOOR!_"

The winds' raging roars fell to fearful whispers, the tainted sands crashed to the ground as the sun beat down on them without mercy. Silence reigned over the desolation all around her, the endless furnace of rock and dust finally at peace. The echoes of her Shout still rang out through the skies, swatting away distant clouds and killing any breeze that dared disturb her. Arvak slowed down to a halt among the jagged crags, pawing at the ground uncertainly, as if to ask his master where the storm had dragged them.

Screaming-Eagle's shoulders slumped. She all but collapsed onto her ride's hellforged back, her breathing as shallow as the dead air around her. She didn't know what time it was, nor where she was; despite the Pip-Boy clasped on her forearm, she felt too weak to raise it and check. She couldn't even bring herself to take the staff dangling from Arvak's side.

Gods, the first moments after a Shout were always the worst for her. Had it been something easy – like the one the Greybeards called 'Unrelenting Force' – she would have been more than capable of dealing with the aftereffects. Dispelling a sandstorm that fierce was no mean feat. Keram-Rei would have handled it better, for sure.

Her strengths returned to her at the thought of the battlemage, if only to make her grit her teeth and blow another snort. It wasn't as convinced or certain as she'd hoped it to be. He would have been a good shoulder to lean on out there... if only to insult him every once in a while to relieve her stress. She couldn't deny his Shouts' strength, the way he trivially invoked words of power in the middle of a fight as though they were nothing more than fireballs.

Even Eyes-Of-Silver was stronger than her, if only for the fury he channeled into his words. He might have found a way out of the wastelands with his preternatural perception. Maria would have been more than enough of a motivator for him to drive them to safety, and no doubt she would have some more questions about how magic worked to keep her and Keram-Rei busy. Phoenix would have recognized the place, Veronica might have produced some technological wonder out of the folds of her robe to guide them along with the werewolf, Arcade could have treated the other humans' bruises or scratches. Naeera-

She hauled herself up into a sitting position over Arvak's spine at the mention of that accursed name. No, she didn't need them. She didn't _miss_ them, they brought only chaos wherever they went. They killed and altered and touched and changed and ruined anything they set their eyes upon. She may very well survive out there on her own, live as a hermit and finally understand what devious mechanism or principle prevented them from effectively establishing contact with their true home, Nirn. They wanted to stay, live their little dream as kings and queens of a kingdom of dirt and misery? So be it. She was going back home. She was going to run all her experiments again, try and approach the problem from a different angle, bring Thu'um and more exotic magic into the equation. No more than a few months and she would be back on Tamriel, already halfway to the Summerset Isles. Her initial estimate of a week had been much too unrealistic to discover anything substantial.

But she could do nothing from the middle of nowhere. The only thing she was going to accomplish was getting a heatstroke with all those enchanted pelts and wool she was wrapped in. She had nothing to eat, nothing to drink. She had to find some shelter. The boulders offered none, and neither did the crags; perhaps the ravine snaking and contorting up ahead would at least provide some shadow. She should be able to do something after she got there. One thing at a time. She had to take little baby steps, organize her confused and angry mind, and work around those problems. Get to the ravine first, think later. Arvak understood her feeble pat and trotted forwards.

She sighed in ecstasy when the shade touched her feathers, then her forehead, her scales, her whole body. The heat did not change down there, but at least she could breathe easier now. She scanned the red rock walls, the uneven floor coated in dust, and found nothing of interest between the cracks and layers and the quiet of death. Nothing lived here, and nothing would ever live. Everything was dead.

Still, after a minute or two of aimlessly riding at walking pace, her perseverance was rewarded. The sky above slowly thinned into a solid vault of sandstone, and the only thing she saw were shadows. A cave - it was perfect! She could rest, and find some shelter from the heat, and maybe even stumble upon a small spring. A smile finally creased her tried and tired features.

She took her staff in hand, raised it, and drew a small circle with her index finger. The simple movement conjured a small, ethereal light at the tip of her crozier. The secrets of this deep grotto would finally be revealed...

Like the solid wall of granite standing right in front of her.

Screaming-Eagle's focus and propositions shattered into a thousand pieces. Before she completely lost it again, though, she decided to dismount – using Arvak as a support until she regained her balance with her staff – and stormed up to the sheer, solid barrier with a snarl. She put her hand to the rock, traced her fingers over it...

Gods above, that didn't clear anything, she wasn't a geologist – it was that, granite! Granite everywhere! Granite, or sandstone, or whatever in Oblivion it was supposed to be! It felt rough to the touch, and that was it. The only thing she knew was that a supposedly deep cave was nothing more than a hole in the ground thanks to that cursed bulwark. Go figure, the only refuge she managed to find was a massive _scam_. Oh, she hated this world with all her guts – and she could see the feeling was entirely mutual. What was she supposed to do now? Dig her own abode there? Her and what impossibly strong and endless reservoir of magic?

Her grip on the staff began to shift again, her hands flowing from the exact middle of it to the bottom. She let out an ear-splitting shriek of frustration and brandished her fine arcane instrument as a club. There was nothing she could do here, _nothing_! It was all useless, the Gods only found it fitting for her to constantly suffer their whims and little jokes. She heard her own blood bubble and boil as she screamed viciously and beat the granite wall before her as though it could bleed.

She felt the force of the blow crawl up to her shoulders, the staff's vibrations very nearly rattling her teeth off, the clang of hardened wood slamming against the rocks reminding her of a mace crashing into an iron shield, and-

She dropped the staff in bewilderment.

Rocks didn't sound like metal when hit. They sounded like... _rocks_. They didn't stay whole, they chipped and broke and lost dust – and their surface most definitely didn't gleam like steel under the light when the _paint_ was scraped off.

Screaming-Eagle approached the wall with caution now, taking her staff back in her hands, her brows creased into a curious frown. Touching it had only proven her embarrassing knowledge of geology, so doing that was out of the question now; rather, she went to knock on it with the bottom of her staff.

It was unmistakable now: it wasn't granite. It had to be an alloy of some kind, immensely thick and resilient, certainly part of... an underground structure? Why would anyone want to build one in the middle of nowhere if not for secrecy?

Her lips quirked into a self-satisfied smirk. If this was a military installation, then it stood to reason the owner or builder of whatever lay beyond that barrier had to be dead by now. As it happened, she was just looking for a very isolated location to safely and secretly carry out her experiments, as far away from any human or otherwise contact this world had to offer. Not to mention, if it was indeed military in nature, then it could have easily been filled with ration packs and clean water that could last for Divines knew how long. She had to say, this _was_ marginally better than a squalid, empty cave.

It was clear she had to get inside, but how? There was no door that she could see. The surface of the wall appeared to be seamless, whole. Had it been any other day, she may have spent hours trying to find a way around, locate the entrance without causing any damage to the structure itself; today, things had gone wrong for the last time in this desert. She had just found what may very well have been her new home, hidden in the loneliness and desolation of the wasteland. She wasn't about to waste her time, wait for her dwindling patience to fade into more anger and risk pulverizing the only thing that could keep the rest of the world outside.

So she walked up to the obstacle and planted her staff firmly in the sandy ground, all of her expression and emotion put aside save for a faint frown of focus. Her fingers quickly traced the Yokudan runes she needed for this: 'blade', 'fire', 'melt'.

An azure flame the size of her forefinger appeared at the tip of her Histwood rod – as small as a scalpel, and as hot as Magnus itself. She had to look elsewhere, moisten her eyes again by shutting her eyelids furiously... perhaps it had come out a little bit stronger than she had intended. Not that she had anything against that, of course. With that, she may be able to work her way into the bunker in under an hour.

* * *

With a slight, final pull, as though she had plucked a golden daffodil from one of the sun-kissed fields of Cyrodiil, the slab of metal crashed to the stone floor, louder than a bell's toll. Cracks spread where it fell, a cloud of dust was raised; she nearly stumbled back herself. The outer edges still glowed and fizzled with heat, turning the sand to glass wherever they touched.

Screaming-Eagle's attention was immediately drawn by the metal sheen of the other side. The man-sized entrance she had just cut and yanked out must have been two feet thick _at least_. That certainly explained its weight and the difficulties she had encountered in piercing it, arcane equivalent of a plasma cutter or no. She rapped her knuckles on it, ran a finger over its surface, and allowed a sneer of displeasure to mar her features. Damn it, there was nothing to learn from it. She knew little to nothing of metals save for their names and colors – and curse just how many of them were shiny and gray. One thing appeared to be quite obvious: it couldn't have been mere steel. Much too resilient, even for its thickness. Perhaps it had been built like a Vault?

Whatever the answer to that question, she was certain it lay beyond the darkness of the hole she had carved. The cold shadows waited for her, eerily still, silent as a grave, concealing Divines knew what other secrets. There was no reason for her to fret or jump into the unknown. She had all the time in the world to uncover them, study every nook and cranny, find solutions to most of her problems. Haste may lead her to breaking something irreplaceable or unique, and that was the last thing she wanted right now.

First things first: she wasn't a Khajiit, she couldn't see in the dark like those deceiving cats. Again, she drew a palm-sized circle in the air before her and tapped the bottom of her staff onto the wall. A sphere of pure light hovered a few inches above the dark, crystal-tipped rod like an unwavering torch, tearing through the curtains of black and revealing the faint glimmer of metallic floors, walls and ceilings, suppressed by a heavy coating of dust and age.

Drawing in a deep breath, she ventured into the unknown.

Screaming-Eagle's first steps displaced years worth of grime, which puffed about her ankles and calves like fog on the hillsides. Her nostrils crinkled at the scent of the ancient, stagnant air. The suffused white radiance of her staff revealed what appeared to be a bare metal corridor to her left, devoid of any form of furniture, a doorway filled with rubble in front of her, and a set of stairs to her right. She sure had no intention of climbing any stairs, but she couldn't resist the urge to take a peek from her current position.

She very nearly bit her own tongue off for doing so.

The small room upstairs housed a ladder – and what looked suspiciously like a manhole.

Her feathers bristled, but she didn't want to dwell too much on the thought she'd just wasted fifty minutes or so cutting her way inside when she could have spent a fifth of that time following the ravine. _Whatever_, it couldn't change the fact she was there now. _That_ was the only thing that mattered. She was going to have to repair the damage she had caused soon enough, true, but at least she'd gotten inside.

As of now, though, she wanted to see where exactly she had ended up – was it a military bunker? Or a governmental one? Or perhaps it had been built by Vault-Tec? She turned to the hallway and extended her staff forwards, revealing two reinforced blast doors: one at the very end of it, some fifty or sixty feet ahead, and one to her left, not too far from the hole she had come through. With a frown of indecision, she shrugged and went for the closest one.

For a couple of seconds, nothing happened when she pressed the yellow button by the entrance. By the time she began to ready her magic to break through yet another barrier, hidden servos whirred and moaned. The door parted in the middle with the groan of rusty metal, and the two halves disappeared into the floor and ceiling.

Dozens of odors, reeks and aromas assailed her, more than enough to make her sneeze aloud a couple of times. After the initial disorientation, she recognized many of the possibilities, combinations, elements in there. Old papers, lingering chemicals, long-evaporated liquids, it was all too familiar to her – it smelled of _knowledge. _There was no mistaking it for anything other than a laboratory.

A small, curious smile plastered itself across her face. Now_ this_ was a pleasant surprise, and one which was certain to be immensely useful in the immediate future. She didn't hesitate one bit to get into the room and raise her staff high, shed as much light as possible over the old shelves and workbenches. Tools, instruments, alembics, boxes, vials, dishes, tomes, notebooks, journals, weapons, knives, even a pair of power armor helmets littered the floor and tables in there. All of it was covered in dust; nothing a couple of spells couldn't clean up. Already she noticed three chalkboards hanging from the walls, their opaque green surfaces marked by equations, diagrams, notes scribbled with haste. She couldn't ever hope to grasp what the symbols and numbers there meant. Her concept of mathematics and calculations was much too different from that of this world, much more... basic.

An abandoned terminal lay almost hidden in the corner next to some sort of vending machine or jukebox, both of them unpowered for Divines knew how many decades. A shame there was no electricity in there. The neon tubes overhead would have saved her a little bit of energy, so that she could invest all of her concentration on losing herself in the unorthodox office. She was all but ready to pounce on the trinkets, consult the books, speak to the terminal, force the very walls to reveal their secrets to her – but that would have to wait until she settled down, of course. Her grin broadened with satisfaction and self-accomplishment. No need to risk a seizure or trip over the curios cluttering the ground, she had all the time in the world to nurture and enrich her mind. Greatness awaited her. She just had to be patient.

The only problem with what was starting to look more and more like her new home was the distinct lack of a bed, a bathroom, or rations of any kind. It made sense, though: who would ever keep food, water, their cot or a _toilet _in their lab? They took up a lot of room; room that could be employed to house a shelf, or more fundamental items, or anything else that may have been useful towards... whatever the goal of the place had been. The most plausible answer she could find was that whoever had built and inhabited this bunker had decided to maximize the space allocated to their researches. It stood to reason that what she was looking for had to be located beyond the other door at the end of the hallway.

Reluctantly, Screaming-Eagle decided to leave her future sanctuary. Of course, the moment she discovered whatever was necessary to her prolonged survival, she was going to march back to this temple of human knowledge and hardly ever leave it again. She couldn't help but hum a happy little song as she headed for the end of the hallway with a bounce in her step. This was more than enough to make her forget that band of misfits and fools she'd had the displeasure of calling 'friends' – no, not friends, _'companions'_. Who needed them now that her most basic needs were covered? They were just distractions. She had no reason to miss them, or even think about them with anything other than scorn.

Some part of her kept bumbling something about second chances, errors and forgiveness, but she smothered it in an instant. She wasn't one for second thoughts. She had made a decision coming here, and she was going to respect both it and her own dignity by remaining adamant. She'd said she was leaving, and she had left. End of story. There was no turning back now. Besides, she really was starting to like this new road she had taken. She felt as though she was finally in control of her own life, like back in Skyrim. She didn't need to depend upon anyone, listen to conflicting opinions, be ignored and spurned anymore. Just her, her studies and herself. Peace. Quiet.

She had already forgotten how badly she had desired to be held by Keram-Rei in his arms by the time she reached the door. Foolish fantasies, all of them. This was reality, and only reality could bring her back home, not silly love stories that were doomed to fail. Pfft, love. Another hindrance among the thousands that had plagued her – good thing she hadn't come to thrive on it like every other living idiot she had met, and had been fooled just once. Now the only disturbances she was going to have to deal with would be the doors being too slow and noisy when they opened, like this other one. She rubbed at her chin, pensive. Maybe she had to do something about them, too. Right after she sealed the hole in the wall, that was.

The metal stopped its strangled lament as the two halves ground to a halt, and she was allowed passage into the only other room. She was ready for a bed, a small door for the bathroom, maybe a shelf or two, a table, and drawers, cabinets and lockers filled with water and food to last for years-

What she got instead was a pedestal lit by a mold-yellow light bulb. Black cables trailed from the dark walls and into the single item placed on display: an old, wood-and-metal radio. Amorphous constructs lay underneath it, made of patchwork steel or iron and connected by thinner, colored wires. Gauges and indicators ticked away like no tomorrow, pointing at values that held no discernible meaning.

Screaming-Eagle was taken aback. How...? No, there had been no electricity anywhere else in the bunker, how come this room had illumination, some weird machinery, and a damn _radio_? It made absolutely no sense – where were all the supplies, the bed, the bathroom? Was there even a purpose to this place, if nobody could live in here? What had she even _found_?

Before she could make a move, the old radio crackled to life. It sputtered static and white noise for a while, until the sound finally resolved itself into a woman's voice. It was surprisingly clear – and unsettlingly similar to Naeera's.

"_Has your life taken a turn?_" The recording, or broadcast, or... whatever in Oblivion it _was_ asked her. "_Do troubles beset you? Has fortune left you behind?_"

_What?_

Screaming-Eagle's heart wanted to hammer away in her chest, but she reined it in with a growl. She wasn't scared of a stupid _joke_. She couldn't mistake that accursed voice for anyone else's: it _was _Naeera, that sensuous and unnerving tone couldn't have belonged to anyone else. How had that whore tracked her down? Had Yes Man given her a hand, traced her Pip-Boy here?

When she heard an ominous metal clack behind her back, an unpleasant little tingle ran up from the stump of her tail to the tips of her horns.

She twirled around, only to see her worst fears confirmed: the door had closed on her. She took her staff in hand, too nervous to try any kind of spell, and began to frantically hammer away at the door with it. There was no way in Oblivion any of the people she knew had set this up, put the radio there, waited for her to come here as though she'd been directed. She had walked straight into something very, very _bad_. Stupid, stupid,_ stupid_! Of course she had to get inside the mysterious abandoned place and become overly confident with it in five minutes, let her guard down so that she could be tricked and trapped like a rat!

Something hissed over her head. White, odorless mist spilled onto the radio, the cables, the floor. She saw it snake its way around her ankles, felt herself grow more and more drowsy with every breath she took...

She kept awake by slamming the heel of her staff into her toes. Gods-dammit, gas! She brought the gorget of her robes over her mouth and nostrils, held her breath. At least Argonians weren't as helpless as humans: had she been a woman, she would've fallen to the ground in the blink of... of an eye.

No going out that way, it... seemed. She was much too tired to... fight back. She stumbled back to the radio... it fell down, she hardly heard it shatter. No, she wasn't going to sleep...

Her head crashed into the pedestal hard enough to make her feel the pain through her numbness. She raised her eyes, tried to pierce the rising smoke, but... her light had faded...

No, no! She wobbled to remain upright, though her legs felt heavy, her muscles... heavier. The gas never stopped, but she couldn't afford to lose... consciousness...

Through the haze, she was sure she saw a... a dark figure. She couldn't see it clearly, but it... had to be much larger than her. Almost... almost as tall as... Eyes-Of-Silver. It was getting closer... she shielded her eyes, tried to hide...

In her last moment of clarity, a gray-blue fist the size of her head crashed into her snout.

* * *

Screaming-Eagle gasped – and immediately wished she hadn't. Thick, foul air heavier than that of the toxic swamps of Gray Marsh clogged and burned her lungs. She coughed it out, only to take in another lungful and nearly choke on it. Gods, had the air turned to _razors_?

Oh, Divines help her, _everything _hurt. She was lying on her left side, but she didn't want to try her luck and actually turn or get up. Her head was going to split in two if she moved, for sure. She couldn't breathe properly, something had been clasped around her neck, too tight to forget or get used to. A good half of her bones ached and all of her muscles were knotted or cramped. Something was encrusted on her snout and mouth, she couldn't smell that well... her jaw was killing her. Unfortunately, she had enough feeling left in her to shiver. The ground was cold and hard under her scales, thousands of grains of sand cut through the rough fabric of her-

She sat up with a startled squeak – she regretted it an instant later, when she almost coughed her own lungs out. After the dizziness settled down and she was sure her larynx wasn't bleeding, she blinked through the haze and ran a hand over her thigh, her belly, her shoulders. The bind on her throat seemed to strangle her with anxiety now.

Why... why was she wearing an old gray – or red – jumpsuit and black boots? What had happened to her robes? Her shoes? Her staff? To everything she held in her satchels?

The left sleeve of her new garment was rolled up, so that she could see the Pip-Boy firmly encasing her forearm let off its usual placid green glow. Instinctively, she averted her gaze from the thing and stared at the floor. It was made from hundreds and hundreds of small, irregular tiles, no larger than pebbles, all set together into meaningless round patterns. Piles of dust and rubble gathered here and there, bricks and girders digging holes and pits where they had fallen from the facades of their ancient buildings. Clusters of them rose around her, crushed together as if by giants' hands. They weren't familiar to her, nor were their wooden balconies, their archways, their dull yellow-red paint and dark brown roofing tiles. What was wrong with the colors? Why-

When she raised her eyes up above, she saw the reason why everything looked red to her. She couldn't keep herself from letting out a measly whine, like a poisoned dog who knew it was about to die.

A squat tower loomed over a massive hill, lit by nothing other than roaring lightning and a suffocating red light. The sky itself was the color of wine – or _blood_. Ruby and black clouds stirred and boiled in the scarlet heavens, oppressive and sunless as... Divines, as the seething mass of crimson above Mehrunes Dagon's Deadlands, a realm of chaos, magma and agony as barren and damned as this... this city. They were too low to be normal clouds, too thick, too _impossible_ to even believe they were actually there. How... how had she gotten there? Why? Why _her_?

The only thing that prevented her from hyperventilating was the corrosive air. Her eyes began to sting, her head spun with possibilities, terror and fear. How had anyone managed to drag her from a bunker in the middle of the Mojave to this cursed land, where even the sun didn't dare to shine its light? Where was she? What had she done to deserve this hell?!

"_Are you listening, lizard? Do you speak my language?_"

Screaming-Eagle's head snapped around at the sound voice, effectively derailing her train of thought. It was a man speaking – and an angry one at that. The sound of his voice was rough and old as a boulder, lined with impatience and demands... now who was he?

Although, another good question would have been: why in Oblivion was the fountain _talking_?

It couldn't have come from anywhere else, she was certain of it (at least there was _one_ thing she was sure of). The structure itself was fairly simple – she'd seen better ones in Skyrim, really – round and not too large, with tiles that had once been blue and white forming simple striped patterns on it. Even the Ultra-Luxe had made a more interesting one.

This one, however, was set apart from any other fountain she had ever seen by one simple particular. A tiny pyramid had been mounted on the edge right in front of her, which projected the bluish, flickering image of an old man in... _thin air_? Had the situation been less tense, and had the lightning stopped cracking the red sky with muffled thunderclaps for one second, she may have been surprised. Now, however, the only emotions she could feel were worry, fear, anxiety – who was he? The man displayed there might have been in his nineties, if the wrinkles all over his face were anything to go by. The long hair and beard made her guesses less sure. What did he want from her?

"_Hmph, good, that saves us some work._" He grunted to himself, clearly satisfied with her scared little nod. "_I don't care who or what you are. __From now on, when I talk, listen – and follow my instructions._"

She only replied to him by nodding again, crawling up to her feet, her eyes glued to the image. It was nothing more than a photograph. It betrayed no expression, no intention, no humanity. Only the portrait of someone that to her looked and sounded dangerous. While part of her wanted to growl at how slowly he spoke, as though she were a stupid child, the rest of her didn't dare to interrupt him. She had the sinking feeling in her gut that if he acted as though he were in command, then chances were good he was responsible for all of this.

"_Play stupid, play clever, make the mistake of saying 'no'?_" The man asked her in a low snarl, like an old lion still strong enough to take down any prey. "_That collar on your neck will go off, and take your... iguana head with it._"

Screaming-Eagle's eyes widened in realization. She brought her hands to the restraint on her neck... and she all but fainted, lost her balance. The thing felt cold to the touch, smooth-edged, and a thousand times more dangerous that she would have ever believed possible. She tugged at it in a feeble, instinctive attempt of breaking free; she only managed to make it tighter.

One mistake, one wrong word, and she was dead. All it took was the wrong answer to a question. She had slain Dragons, conquered castles, made grand plans for the greatest battles – and now she was leashed like a dog, threatened by a simple _collar_.

"_Yes, that one – you must be smart for your kind._" The man chuckled once. He didn't sound amused, more like... contemptuous. He was taunting her. "_It's like that Pip-Boy on your wrist, except filled with explosives. A little radio of the Old World, just needed some tuning._" His voice took on an edge of superiority, became softer, as though he were smiling at her helplessness – or at his own cunning. "_Do what I say, and the collar won't go off. Refuse? Try and run? _Disobey _me?_" He snorted. "_I'll kill you and find someone else. There's no escape from here until I let you go. The sooner you accept your situation, the better._"

Screaming-Eagle had to swallow multiple times to gather the courage she needed to speak. The air made her throat dry, much too dry for comfort. None of what the man said aided her – it only flayed her frayed nerves even more. She didn't want to die like this, forgotten and alone in an unknown city at the hands of an old man. She wanted to get out of there, go back to Nirn; or back to the Mojave, at the very least...

As much as it hurt her ego and throat to do so, she drew in a painful breath of rusted nails. "What... what do you want from me?"

"_The structure you see above the fountain – that is the Sierra Madre casino._" The man told her, his voice somewhat less harsh. He had to be talking about the building perched upon the hill, the tower right behind his head. "_You need to break inside. A... _heist_. Too many years in the making. But to get inside, avoid its traps, you'll need to gather the team._" He coughed a couple of times, but dismissed that with a huff. "_As I've found, one... cannot do it alone._"

Whatever got her breathing well again, took that damned collar off of her and placed her right in the middle of the lethal, scorched, _normal_ Mojave desert was just about perfect for her. She didn't want to die like an idiot because she had refused orders – her freedom had no price, true, but she had to stay alive if she wished to enjoy it. If it meant bowing her head, listening and carrying out a task, she wasn't going to complain. She gave him another, slower nod. "Who am I... looking for?"

"_Around the Villa are three other collars like yours – Collar eight, twelve and fourteen._" The man answered with strange calmness. "_Find all three and get them here, to the Fountain. Then we'll talk more._"

Screaming-Eagle frowned at the instructions. It still didn't sit well with her that she were to receive orders in the first place, but... what was she supposed to do? Those words meant nothing to her. She cleared her throat-

"_And should you get any ideas about killing each other and taking the treasure of the Sierra Madre for yourself... a warning._" He interrupted her thoughts with a growl. "_All your collars are linked. One of you dies... you all die. If that's what it takes to make you cooperate, then so be it._" He scoffed, as though he'd just waved her off."_Now go. Use that piece of RobCo trash to track down the other collars – I have uploaded a map on it, so that you don't get lost while you gather the_ _team._"

She glanced down at the Pip-Boy on her arm, as though she could have a confirmation of what the man said by looking at it. A map. That was... good. She made to raise her hand-

"_Oh, a word of advice: be wary of radios and__ speakers._" The old man went on with no regard for her."_The frequency has decayed over time, and it might... interfere with your collar. Destroy them, or avoid them – your choice._" He paused for a moment."_Also, do not underestimate the inhabitants of the Sierra Madre. I've found out that the only way to be sure of their death is through dismemberment, or disintegration. Use the rifle there, it might prove to be useful._"

Her breath caught in her throat. Inhabitants? Rifle? _Dismemberment and disintegration? _Where-

"_And remember, make sure to avoid concentrated pockets of the Cloud, and only rest when you're inside a building. The air will leave you teetering on the brink of death, eventually – but never really kill you._" He continued. He cleared his throat as if his cryptic words of 'advice' had tired him. "_That is all you need to survive. Scavenge for supplies, find the collars, and bring them here. Move._"

Screaming-Eagle had a thousand questions – what was the Cloud, who were these inhabitants, how could she avoid the radios, where had her gear gone – but the man's face winked out of existence before she could fill her lungs and mutter 'what'. In his place was the ghost – no, the... _hologram_ of a once-beautiful woman in an evening dress. She stood perfectly still, stared in front of her with as much purpose as a mannequin. Nobody could have been fooled into believing it represented a human being. It was too still, too unfeeling.

The Archmage, on the other hand, crumbled to her knees and grabbed both of her horns in desperation. She was doomed. She didn't want to stay there, she didn't want to listen to an old man boss her around and tell her what to do and what not to do, she didn't want to find some new team for a heist. She wanted her friends back, she could have made it with them – Keram-Rei and Eyes-Of-Silver would have been perfect for the job, she was sure of it; by Akatosh, even _Naeera _would have sufficed. She wanted to go back home... she didn't care that they were idiots, they were _her _idiots, they would listen to her and work with her. Maybe they could have pulled her out of there and back home where there were no red clouds and old madmen and bomb collars and she could hug Keram-Rei and-

_Enough!_

Screaming-Eagle slapped herself back into coherence. She shook her head, clenched her fists and rose to her feet. She hadn't become the Archmage of Winterhold and one of the greatest mages in Tamriel by crying to herself and panicking or calling for mommy. When she was presented with a problem, she solved it – and unsolvable though it appeared to her right now, she was going to be damned if she didn't get out of _this one_.

First things first, she took the odd rifle lying by her feet. She couldn't tell from how many weapons it had been cannibalized... by Julianos, she had no idea how to _operate_ a normal one save for pulling the trigger. This ungodly farrago of sniper rifle, shotgun and energy weapon made as much sense as a three-headed monkey to her. However, she slung it over her shoulder without a second thought. She still had her magic in any case – nothing Yokudan, but the strongest Tamrielic spells were perfectly feasible even without a staff. That rifle was a... last resort. It might have proven to be useful in a pinch.

Right... time to put her mind back into a semblance of order. She was somewhere that was called the Sierra Madre, or the Villa, filled to the brim with living and dead, artificial and natural threats. She had absolutely no idea how she had gotten there, or where her clothes and equipment had gone. One thing she was sure of: it all had to be linked with that damn bunker she had found, and that old man must have had something to do with her presence there – he had very nearly admitted it himself. The way he imperiously commanded her spoke for itself. She had been _brought_ there, possibly by the very same hulking creature that had punched her in the face... which also answered the question of what covered her nostrils and why her jawbone hurt so much. She had been fitted with a poor suit and an explosive dog collar that worked like her Pip-Boy, bereft of all of her possessions save for her tailless hide, Archmage mind and Dragon soul.

Ugh, she hated not having any answers, especially when her more emotional side whimpered at her to curl up into a little ball on the ground and cry her eyes out. Relieving and fitting though that may have been, it wasn't going to solve any of her problems. Her situation demanded _action_.

That elusive bastard didn't want to talk to her? Fine. She was going to get her answers from that old man, sooner or later. She wasn't about to be refused by _him_ – she was Screaming-Eagle, Dragonborn, Archmage of Winterhold and Imperial Legate, among other things. The only reason she took her orders from a random nobody was to rip her freedom back from his old, wizened hands.

And to make him pay.


	32. Trapped

Lightning cracked the bloodred sky, thunder rolled across the twisting alleys.

Screaming-Eagle didn't wince at the distant roars this time. She had learned to ignore the impossible climate relatively quickly – arid and yet cold, dark and yet intense, the blanketed sun glaring at her with hateful red fury. All in all, it wasn't anything new to her. She had traveled to the realm of Apocrypha, ruled by Hermaeus Mora, inhabited by eldritch demons and constructed from literal knowledge; she had seen Mehrunes Dagon's Deadlands, with their lakes of magma and their clouds of soot and ash (to which this place couldn't hope to hold a candle)... but then, she had known they were not part of her world. They had their own rules, shaped by the whims of their masters. She had seen a great many of those planes of reality, each with its peculiarities and traits, be they good or ill. That made sense, considering they were the realms of Daedric Princes. Everything was possible.

This... town, or city, or hellhole was very much on Earth, and it was like nothing she could have imagined. It was plain _worse_. Her lungs would never get used to the burning copper and sulfur on the air, seeping through her skin, stinging her larynx. The collar threatened to crush her throat like a stone-cold killer's hand: always ready to squeeze the life out of her, too sadistic to either end her or let go. Her eyes had begun to tear up and blur around the edges – not entirely because she was scared, or stressed, or angry, but rather because the very same caustic dust and fog clouding the narrow alleyways was clawing at her retinas, too.

Oh, Gods above, even using the damned map on her Pip-Boy she had still managed to lose herself into that accursed labyrinth. Her ragged breaths and uncertain vision disrupted any focus she may have tried to hold on to. Everything appeared to be the same to her. How was she supposed to distinguish between which walls had crumbled, and which balconies had crashed to the ground? How could she identify as landmarks the holes dug into the reddish tiles on the floor, the stumps of dead trees, the little dried-up fountains filled with meaningless golden coins? What did she have to do with those stubby machines placed here and there and their blue glow, so out of place in that bloody dead city? Why hadn't the old man bothered to tell her how they worked?

She raised her left arm again, and was met with the very same accursed green map of choking alleys, dead ends, twisting streets she had faced at least a dozen times already. Three points of interest had been marked on it, icons and numbers equally incomprehensible to her. The one to the West, however – which she was currently trying to follow – had three urgent exclamation marks overhead to signify its importance. She squinted past her dizziness to make out the words setting it apart.

**!  
****COLLAR 8 – PRIORITY  
****FEV SUBJECT – DOCILE – STRONG  
****POLICE STATION**

Screaming-Eagle scowled viciously at the name. Of course he wanted her to find this particular 'Collar' before the others, no matter she had no idea what in Oblivion an 'FEV' was supposed to be in the first place. Gah, the more she thought about the old man's insensate ramblings and meaningless warnings, the harder she wanted to hit him with the ramshackle weapon on her back, heal him, and restart the process over and over again. Had he been trying to help her with his nonsense? It was quite possible, come to think of it. He would only gain from a success in his... operation, whatever his intended objective could be. It only made sense for him to assist his _tools_ in accomplishing their– no, _his_ ends.

The location she had to reach had been dubbed 'police station', too. Doubtlessly she would be able to find adequate means of defense in there. She had only the faintest notions on how to operate a gun. Oh, not that she needed one with her magic, of course. However, she could always use the uniforms or suits of armor held there. Anything was better than this uncomfortable, large, rough jumpsuit. She couldn't hope to stay out of sight with a white-gray piece of trash on her, which also marked her chest and back with neon orange targets. It itched insanely, to boot.

Still... everything in there was red, right? She herself _was _red, by Julianos. She may have very well ditched her jumpsuit at this point, using her natural advantage to blend in with the environment and to finally get rid of that-

She shivered at the very thought. She wasn't a _savage_, she was never going to renounce her dignity in the name of slim chances of survival. If the denizens of the Sierra Madre were so dangerous, they were certainly going to hear and smell her before she came in sight, no matter if she wore a slave's clothing or just her skin. Not to mention, her Pip-Boy's screen shed a damned green glow visible from every rooftop. She had absolutely no idea how to turn it off, it wasn't like the Overseer of Vault 24 had ever bothered learning how to do it, she only knew how to change the light's intensity. Which was already set at the minimum possible, in any case. In the end, it would have been beyond futile. And, naturally, she was _never_ going to act like that whore Naeera and walk around naked. Her own body was only hers to see, end of story.

Most infuriating of all, she couldn't ride Arvak in there. The streets were too damn tight to even _think_ about summoning him. Could she walk properly through them? Of course not. The ground was uneven, she hadn't fully recovered from the loss of her tail yet, and she hadn't even been provided with a decent staff. The rifle on her back was far too heavy and unbalanced for the purpose. Gods, why was she carrying it, anyway? It only weighed her down. Ah, no matter, she was going to make it...

Just as she turned to the right, she had the confirmation that this ungodly town was more than glad to prove her wrong.

Stairs.

Gods-dammit. Yes, sure, let's throw some _stairs_ in there, as though things couldn't have been harder than that for her. It wasn't like she was choking on the vitriol in the air, or she could only move at a hasty hobble at best because her poor balance required her to use a cane. No, this place just had to be filled with _stairs._ At least there were buildings to lean on, she supposed.

The moment she touched the brick wall, her fingers sank for at least an inch into moist red grime. She recoiled from it with an undignified squeak, wiping her itching hand on the jumpsuit and gaping at the handprint she had left. Just... how long had that _shit _been polluting the air? Ugh. She could try to ignore the feeling of... melted wax onto her scales, oozing on her palm and bleeding through her nails...

Divines, why had she ended up there? Couldn't she have woken up into some far-away oasis, inhabited only by palm trees, lovely flowers and singing birds? Someplace decent, for a moment of relief from the metaphorical hell of the Mojave? No, of course not. She had to end up in _literal_ Hell this time. She had wanted peace, just that. Was that really too much to ask for?

Reaching the end of the stairs between a thousand hardships and pains (and more than a little disgust), she finally ended up into yet another alley, her muscles aching and her breaths heavier than the air around her.

The only thing holding her from slapping her palm on her eyes was the toxic waste clinging to her fingers. It couldn't go on like this. This had to be some sort of joke, she knew it. Some hilarious trick of the Gods. Oh, they must have been having a laugh up there, doing absolutely _nothing _for the poor little mortal they had left stranded there because they were too scared to actually move off of their holy asses and help her!

Screaming-Eagle clutched her clean hand to her mouth, almost as if to stop the thoughts from forming into words. No, no, she... she hadn't meant it that way. Akatosh forgive her, this place was getting to her head, she hadn't intended her thoughts to be so blasphemous. She was just... frustrated. This had been a shock, it was understandable, the Divines had done nothing to deserve such-

_Crack._

She froze on the spot at the sound. She... had crushed something underfoot. Something brittle, and ancient. She had to force down her anxiety a few times to build up the courage to look down. It wasn't hard to imagine what she had just stepped on. She just didn't _want_ to see it confirmed. This place was better if she imagined it to be entirely empty, maddening in its loneliness, devoid of any monsters crawling through the shadows. Nevertheless, she drew in one deep breath and glanced down.

A pile of bones awaited her. Bones rendered so red and dark from exposure to the atmosphere of pure venom that they almost resembled carved rocks. Normally, a corpse couldn't hope to unsettle her – she was a military officer, for Talos's sake, she _dealt_ in dead bodies – yet this particular skeleton managed to shake her for one small particular. It wasn't the open skull she had inadvertently stepped on, nor the knives stuck between the ribs and reddened by age, no.

It was the distance between the ribcage, the spine and the limbs that unsettled her. This... man, or woman, had been _torn apart_. Most of the bones had been broken long, long ago. The femurs had been cut cleanly in half, the arms were shattered, the ribcage had caved in, and... where was the jaw? She hadn't displaced it, it... it wasn't there.

And Gods, why were all the bones covered in _scratches_ and_ bite marks_? They showed through the patina of red; ferocious, inhuman wounds, closer to what a pack of wolves might have left than anything else.

One thought kept nagging at her mind: who, or rather _what_ had killed this unlucky soul? The old man had mentioned inhabitants that she shouldn't underestimate. But... were they so vicious, or insane, as to tear a man to shreds? Were they even _human_ anymore? How... how many of those things were there?

If anything, the sight of this ancient massacre pushed her forwards at a quicker pace, as fast as her lack of tail permitted. She didn't pay attention to the odd pool of red goo she stepped on this time, didn't really care about what streets she took, so long as she went West. If she found another collar, then she would have found a _rational human being_. This was good. He or she would have certainly been more used to the noxious city than she was. They would have known the inhabitants, how to avoid and fight them, how to survive in this cesspool, where to find food and water. By Akatosh, she wasn't hungry now, but she couldn't possibly pretend to go on without sustenance forever.

The thought was more than enough to strengthen her resolve. Yes, she would get to the police station, find this Collar Eight, arm herself, eat and drink something, and be ready to face the madman's plan. Now nothing could have wiped the fierce smirk off of her face. Strength returned to her limbs, the air seemed lighter, her lungs and scales didn't burn as terribly as before. Or at least, she managed to ignore the worst of it. She was getting out of there. She didn't know when, she didn't know how, but Divines help her, she _was_.

* * *

Screaming-Eagle had to come to a halt. It was too hard to swallow down the air as thick as sandpaper, especially after having walked for so long. She was feeling too weak. The Villa was taking its toll on her after... wait, how long had passed? Damn, she hadn't checked the time on the Pip-Boy before, she wasn't certain. It must have been... no more than ten minutes, she was sure of that. The scarlet clouds and relentless lightning only confused her sense of time.

Scanning the alley, it almost looked as if she hadn't moved. Everything was the same unrecognizable red everywhere she turned. The only thing to have changed was the location of the garbage cans, the position of the piles of rubble, the degree of desiccation of the shriveled black trees. She tentatively brought her left arm up to look at the map, make an attempt to understand where she was.

Her brows shot up. She blinked, did a double take, and glanced up with uncertainty.

There was an archway up ahead. Her eyesight was hindered by a slight blur, but she could have sworn it led into an open space. A courtyard, maybe a small square. The buildings on either side of her didn't help with her sense of direction, nor did the ones beyond the walls of the archway. They were all so damn _identical_. What did aid her, however, was the large fountain she spotted, similar to the one next to which she had woken up. It couldn't have been the same, there hadn't been that damn... bell, or gong stabbing at her eardrums. The noise and its echoes were distorted by the air and crimson smog, yet she was fairly sure its source had to be somewhere up ahead.

According to her Pip-Boy, the police station was right in that square.

She braced herself and moved on. Her feet were leaden, her muscles wooden, her will adamant. Oh, she was too close now to surrender. The old man and the Sierra Madre's polluted atmosphere couldn't win this time. She was getting there, step by step, foot after foot of broken, sodden tiles.

Finally, she emerged from the archway and into a wide plaza. It almost felt strange, to gaze around and find no less than a dozen yards between herself and the blight-encrusted homes. The open space was irregular, following the lines of the buildings rather than a precise form. In the middle of it all was the fountain, guarded by three stumps and a whole dead tree. The dried-up pool was filled with more of those golden coins. Why would she even need _money_ in here? Ah, no matter. She was going to ask this 'Collar' in due time.

Right across from her was the police station, if the small icon of a shield hanging over the arches was anything to go by. It rose one floor above the surrounding homes, topped with an assortment of broken antennae and a large bell that must have been causing the hellish din tormenting her ears. All of its windows were closed shut. Her target had to be holed up in there. A broken, flickering lantern shed its light on a lonely reinforced door, the only entrance she could see to the police station.

Screaming-Eagle rolled her eyes. _At last. _She was more than glad to take a wide berth around the fountain with calm, cast a curious glance to her left and see-

Green.

She tried to assume a battle stance and nearly tripped over one of the fountain's steps. There, in the archway she had just vacated, _someone_ was standing, staring at her. He, or she, wore a heavy brown suit, bulky and visibly uncomfortable – so much that the wearer was hunched over, almost crushed under its weight, despite the fact it had to be someone tall and burly buried in there. The lights on the gas mask's lenses shone an acid green... and the filters belched out puffs of lurid gas. Was this one of the infamous natives of the Villa? It... did look like it. He seemed to be human enough to be counted as an 'inhabitant'.

Still, she couldn't shake off the feeling something was wrong with him- no, _it_. No human being could be so bent and twisted, and yet so immobile; deformities normally caused instability. This one hardly moved, the only indication of life or of a surrogate of it was the smoke coming out of the mask. It stood way too still for it to be entirely human, or living. And the way those two lenses glared at her... it slowly cocked its head like a wild beast when her eyes met its own, almost as if considering what to do with her now that it had been seen.

She straightened up and flexed her fingers, ready to call upon fire and burn the thing to a cinder. Unless... well, it was (or had been) human once, perhaps it might yet understand her. She could intimidate it or make it go away. It might even give her a hand, Gods willing. So she cleared her throat from the grime and phlegm, and narrowed her eyes. "What are you?"

In response, the thing in the hazmat suit let out a husky growl from its respirator. It began to shuffle forwards, steadying itself with its arms lest it toppled like a small child. It lurched unsteadily, like a reanimated corpse, but she came to notice its movements were precise, efficient, and much too quick for its posture. Its right arm had been encased in some form of... harness, or device, ending above its hand in a bear trap. Its fingers twitched with anticipation as it started to circle around the fountain.

Screaming-Eagle let out an undignified snort. It wanted to fight her? Fine. She raised her left hand, started to focus on the Magicka both inside of herself and in the tainted air. She willed forth wild and lethal flames, ready to char that bulky suit and liquefy the flesh underneath. The heat in her palm became palpable, so she clutched at it to mold and direct it. She was surprised to find out this wasn't as easy as she was used to, but it surely had to do with her tiredness and poor focus. With the given conditions, it was only understandable.

As soon as the creature got within thirty feet of her, she invoked her fire with a fierce smile.

It faded in an instant, replaced by exquisite anguish.

She screamed when the flames seared her fingers, burned her palm, _betrayed_ her. She hurled the half-formed fireball at the thing more to get the heat away from her arm than as a proper attack, saw the brown suit's torso ignite. The impact didn't even register in her brain.

She clutched her burned hand to her chest, staring in shock at the blackened, sizzling scales, at the exuding red underneath. It wasn't the pain that threw her off, paralyzed her.

Why had her own spell hurt her?

The bear trap gnashing at the tree mere inches from her right horn shook her back into action. She stumbled back from the gust of heated air, holding her hand and its shrieking nerves close to her hammering heart, and made a run for the entrance. She almost tripped over, her rifle clattered to the ground – she didn't even turn to pick it up. Her lungs were about to burst with the exertion, her legs were going to falter any moment now. The only thing keeping her from stopping and staring at her wound was the constant hiss, clack and murmur of that creature's mask, the crackle of the flames on the hazmat suit, the relentless stomps of its boots. The thing was following her.

She flung the door open with her only good hand, and slammed it behind herself at once. She didn't even look at where she'd ended up. She saw a desk to her immediate right. That was much too important for other thoughts to distract her. She hurried behind it and began to push it against the door with all the strength she could muster. It was heavy, way too heavy. It moved by mere inches at first. It didn't matter. She had to barricade the door. She couldn't use magic properly or fight with only one hand. She had to keep that monster out.

A fist banged furiously against the steel door, carving a dent into it and making it rattle against its hinges. It only made her double her efforts to get put that desk in front of the seemingly fragile door, between that fucking _demon_ and her frail body. All of her muscles burned with strain, her feet nearly lost traction on the tiled floor. She had to get that thing in place! Another dent appeared in the door, and another one, and another one...

When the writing table finally covered the entire width of the doorframe, she slumped against the empty wall, deflated until she sat down and the banging on the door faded away from her mind into background noise. She huddled as far from the entrance as she dared, hugged her knees, and rested her head on them.

She raised her left arm, stared blankly at the trembling fingers. Patches of her precious, dark scales had fallen like leaves in autumn, exposing the pink-red flesh of her palm, pulsing wetly and howling at her in torment. It hurt so much, so, _so_ much...

A tear made its way down her cheek, onto her jaw; another one trickled as well, followed by another, and another. It... no, it shouldn't have been possible. She... she had done everything correctly, it was just a fireball, someone like Keram-Rei could use them with no effort. And even if she'd made a mistake, it... it should have disappeared, or missed its target, or lost some of its power! It shouldn't have bitten the caster back. It couldn't have. She couldn't have been hindered like that by...

By what? She had never heard of anything like this in her studies, her conversations with 'experts', her meetings. Nothing had ever emerged about similar horrors back then. Magic could be blocked, deflected, or denied, most definitely _not_ tampered with and corrupted.

No, no, no, this... this wasn't happening. This just _couldn't be happening_! She had practiced for years, she had become Archmage, she had been striving to master the arcane arts at the best of her capabilities since the age of seven. Not even the most idiotic rookies could have ever managed to make one of their own spells _backfire_!

But it had happened, right there, right in front of her eyes. The agony enveloping her hand couldn't even be described by words, it was like the fire had never gone out, like the failure kept on happening every second she lived. She didn't even dare to move her fingers for fear she might squeal and wail.

_Why had her own spell hurt her?_

Screaming-Eagle wiped the tears away with her good hand, her mind already at work to rationalize it all and forget the pain for an instant. It... must have been an accident, she was sure of it. She'd had too much going on as of late, perhaps she just needed rest. Yes, just... find a bed, lie down, take some sleep. She was safe in there. The entrance was sturdy, and she had effectively barricaded herself inside. The thing hunting her must have gone away, too. She heard nothing coming from the outside, no rattles, no punches, no gasps.

Besides, the air in the building... she inhaled deeply to be sure. Yes, the air was cleaner, somehow. It didn't hurt as much as it did before. It was tainted and unsavory alright, but its wrongness wasn't as strong as it had been on the streets. She could finally _breathe freely_. Oh, Gods, this was a relief. Finally, some respite from the Sierra Madre's red hatred...

Of course, the minor blessing paled in comparison to the dreadful feeling in her scorched fingers. There wasn't much she could do with only one good hand, either. Things weren't going to stay that way for long.

She didn't even try to use her left to make her attempt at healing; instead, she raised her right, and invoked soothing golden light. It gently caressed the heinous wound, dulled the pain into torpor, mended the burns like a fresh balm...

After a while, she noticed her scales weren't growing back. She cast the spell again, but the harder she tried, the less her scales healed, the... drowsier she got. Her wound was nowhere near as bad as before, so she guessed that would have to do. Now she could set her full focus on reflecting and puzzling herself. Why in Oblivion was she so tired? She hadn't felt like that when she'd rushed inside, adrenaline or no. Her whole body had ached – and it still did, even more so than before – but she hadn't been so worn out. Could it be that her magic was starting to take a toll on-

She tried to gulp away the sudden lump in her throat. There was nothing she could do about the weight in her chest and in the pit of her stomach, nor about the whimper she unwillingly let out. It wasn't normal for a mage to feel that tired after just two spells. She wasn't sure about what had happened with the fire, hadn't really thought about it that deeply, but now that her healing spell hadn't given her strengths back to her... no, it couldn't be. She... she had to be sure of it.

Suppressing a shudder in the darkness of the room, she raised her scarred hand and willed a light orb into being.

She had to snatch her arm away from the heat, avert her gaze from the blinding glare and blink the spots away from her vision. As she stared at the floor in dismay, she was forced to notice the unnatural way her spell wavered and sputtered like a broken neon, its gleam a sickly yellow, the waves of torrid air hitting her scales like desert winds.

Then, just as it had appeared, the light was snuffed out of the air and left her alone in the dark.

Gods.

She clasped both hands to her mouth, choked down the scream she felt rising up her throat like bile. It hadn't been an accident, none of those three spells had been accidents. She could do nothing to stop the tears from streaming down her eyes and through her fingers. No, no, no, no, no... this had to be a nightmare. A horrible, twisted, cruel nightmare Vaermina had crafted just for her. She wanted to wake up. Was there any way to wake herself up? Why wasn't she waking up from this terrible dream?

She couldn't force down the sob that escaped through her lips and palms this time. She let her arms slump down her sides, but she didn't even have the will to cower and curl up into a ball in the grime and dust. So she sat, horrified, defeated, shaking her head feebly and staring at her burned hand. This was all a dream, this was all a dream... it had to be...

The air wasn't just a poison for her body, it... it damaged her magic, defiled it.

She was nobody without magic, just a tailless cripple stuck in a dead city, alone and forgotten by the Divines. No, no... her magic was what had kept her alive, what had made her endure, soldier on where others had failed... and now she had been bereft of it, left naked, defenseless, impotent. What good was she without it? She couldn't hide, she couldn't fight, she couldn't survive, she couldn't _live_ without it. Now her every spell backstabbed her, laughed at her frailty, damaged her, left her broken...

What had she done to deserve it all? Why had the Divines abandoned her? She wanted to go home... oh, how could she have ever thought about leaving the only safe place in the wasteland? None of this would have happened if she had tried to reason with the others instead of just storming out. Had everything gone smoothly, she would still be with Keram-Rei, and Maria, and Phoenix, and Eyes-Of-Silver, and Veronica, and Arcade, and _Naeera_... oh, she was ready to kiss that loathsome thief right now, if that meant she could get out of there, get her magic back, go back to her _friends_.

She wanted to go home...

* * *

_Crash._

The cacophony made her head jerk up. It... had come from some other part of the building. Not here in the entrance hall, cluttered with desks, chairs and filled with dust. Its fierce echoes still reverberated through the corridors all around her, as loud as an explosion in the deadly silence. It had sounded like... armor being beaten and torn, or a knight being unhorsed and falling onto gravel, or...

Screaming-Eagle's blood froze in her veins.

Like an unhinged door slamming into the ground.

Divines_... _it could only mean one thing. That _thing_ had found a way inside. She had no idea how, but it had. She'd stupidly blocked the only exit she knew, and now the hallways weren't safe, she couldn't imagine where it could come from. Yet she couldn't stay there, sitting and praying that it didn't find her. Gods-dammit, she was so _useless_. She should have burned that beast to a cinder near the fountain, and the only thing she had achieved was angering it further and scalding her left hand. She couldn't fight with magic, so...

A spark of hope flared in her chest. The rifle! Maybe she could line up a shot and-

She groped over her shoulder, only to touch the flaking paint on the wall behind her. She didn't even have the strength to cry about it, she just gritted her teeth through her tears in frustration. It had fallen while she was running inside. _Fuck._ Now she was both powerless and unarmed. She had no chance, no possible outcome she could think of saw her getting out of there alive... or in one piece.

There had to be a rational way to do this. She couldn't possibly hope to injure that thing with her physical strength, let alone kill it, so fighting was out of the question unless she wanted to ravage her hand with magic again. Perhaps she could hide, but... how? She had never been inside this place, she didn't know where the hallways led to, nor which room housed what. Staying put and waiting for that creature to find her and slay her, on the other hand... she had no magic, no power, no strengths, no hope. Why even bother to live, if... if she had no way to-

_No!_

Screaming-Eagle dragged herself to her feet, wiped her tears away and suppressed a growl. Like _fuck_ she was going to lie down and wait for a bastard in a burned hazmat suit to rip her head off with a bear trap without her fighting back. She was _Screaming-Eagle_, Thane of Skyrim, not some lousy rat from Riften! She wasn't about to roll over and die like an insect, much less in the shithole that was the Sierra Madre, not if she had a say in all that.

That thing was nothing more than a predator, an animal. She couldn't possibly allow an inferior maggot such as that to slay her, it was insane to even _consider _the possibility. She had rationality on her side. Tactics, strategy, planning capabilities; that monster didn't. It wasn't a student of the arcane arts, it hadn't won battles, it hadn't turned the tide of a war, it hadn't saved a continent and perhaps the whole world. It was just an instinctive beast, no better than a bear. That gave her a considerable advantage, balanced out the brute's inhuman strength and resilience. If she couldn't fight it, she could at the very least outsmart it.

Besides, she was in a police station, wasn't she? There were bound to be guns in there. She had never shot a firearm before, but she knew the basics: point, aim, fire. It couldn't be too hard, she was a fast learner. Best case scenario, she could actually end its life. Or, more likely, incapacitate it or gain some time to find this Collar Eight, team up with him or her, and bring that demon down.

She didn't want to go home anymore. She _was going _back home, one way or another.

Her feet barely made a noise as she attempted to sneak towards the closest corridor, more thanks to the faint crackle of static covering her footsteps than to her actual stealth skills. She avoided crouching, since it wouldn't have worked well for her without a tail, and instead walked softly towards the door on the right. She was careful not to step onto any pieces of plaster, heaps of wood or shards of glass, got to the doorframe, and-

_Beep._

Screaming-Eagle's head snapped around at the sudden noise. It came from somewhere close, and it was _loud_. It might have been just loud enough to be heard throughout the building, or by someone with keen ears at any rate. She couldn't see any source though, so either it was hidden somewhere, or...

_Beep._

Her eyes shot wide open. It wasn't some old piece of equipment stowed away around her. It was her collar – and it was growing hotter. Oh, Gods, what had the old man told her? Something about radios and decaying signals?

_Beep._

Fuck what the old man had said, she had to move. That thing sounded to her more and more like a ticking bomb than anything else. If she didn't get moving and if the hazmat bastard didn't find her first, then she would learn what how exactly these signals could interfere with her-

_Beep._

Her accursed leash's promises prodded her, made her hurry forwards at an unsteady canter. To the right, the windows were sealed. To the left, most of the doors had been blocked by debris. She had to go forwards, through the wide doorframe at the end of the hallway and into the offices beyond. In there, she might be able to lose her hunter.

Once she got into the large room and her collar didn't emit that loathsome noise anymore, she almost slumped with relief. _Almost_. She had now entered a maze of tall cubicles, desks, chairs and terminals, the plastic walls reaching up halfway to the roof and effectively impairing her sight. The only things that rose above those damned carrels were the square, eroded pillars supporting the damaged ceiling. Divines, reaching the other side of the hall would be impossible this way. She couldn't even see any other _door_.

Still, she held her breath and moved on through the artificial forest. These cubicles had been placed almost entirely at random. There were no aisles for her to follow. Wherever she turned, a path that should have been open was instead blocked by a writing table. Other times, the filthy yellow walls parted to reveal a new way she hadn't expected, to then find out the roof had collapsed onto the only route. Despite these hindrances and setbacks, she held her frustration at bay. One small thing, just the tiniest sound, may very well give her away and let that thing loose, ready to feast on her-

_Beep._

Screaming-Eagle took a frantic step backwards, bumping back-first into one of the desks – and into the terminal sitting right on the ledge.

Before she could even raise her arm or curse at herself, the bulky machine crashed to the tiles by her feet with a deafening _bang_. The glass screen shattered in a thousand pieces, some of the keys clattered off from the keyboard and into the ground, the metal frame cracked and splintered the tiles before settling down onto its side.

Fuck, fuck, _fuck._ She clenched her jaw shut in order to bite down her screams. _Gods-dammit. _Okay, she should have been careful, but this time it hadn't been entirely her fault. Who in Oblivion had set up all those radios she couldn't even see in the first place? Was there any fucking _need_ for so many radios to lie around?

Then, in the silence of her rage, she heard a thud. And another one. _And another one._

Her heart raced in her chest. She didn't have time for anger, or sadness, or determination. Just for those constant, unrelenting footfalls drawing close. None of the plans she had about this fight survived the distorted reverb of the gas mask's hisses and gasps. Her propositions of revenge were unraveled by the smell of scorched leather, seared flesh and rancid attar.

The cubicle to her left exploded in a shower of mortar, sparks and glass shards. The creature smashed its unarmed fist on the desk before itself and _bent it_, then flung it aside and sent it crashing into one of the pillars. It let out a fierce, wheezing growl through its blackened mask. The surface of its suit had melted and charred, but it hardly even seemed to consider pain. Its twin green lenses glared at her inhumanly. Its growl rose to a howl when she stared back.

She was rooted in place. It had found her in an instant, how... how had that beast done it? She should have had more time to slither away into the shadows, trick it. But there it was, right before her, the bear trap ready to gnash away at her throat.

When the creature took a step forwards, crushing the terminal underneath its boot, a single word echoed in her mind.

_Run._

Screaming-Eagle turned on her heel and bolted. She didn't care if that thing followed her at a leisurely walk or if it took off behind her, if it threw something her way, if she got lost inside of the police station, if her collar started beeping or not. None of those things mattered as much as her survival, as the yards she had to get between herself and that demon, as all of her instincts shouting at her to _run_. She didn't want to die. That was more than enough to drive her.

The cubicles and desks gave way to another hallway. It went to the left, then to the right, then to the left again. She followed it blindly, almost without seeing where she ended up. If she stopped, even for one second, that beast would catch up with her and split her open. Her blood roared in her eardrums, her eyes were too dry to cry in fear. She had no defenses, no magic, no weapon. She had to find one, or hide until that thing went away.

The corridor bifurcated up ahead. To the right, she saw it continue with doors on either side; to the left was what had all the looks of a hole in the ground – _stairs_. That thing was clumsier than her. If she drew it downstairs, then perhaps it could fall down and leave her plenty of time to finish it, or run away. She didn't think twice before sprinting to the left, gripping the railing with both hands and going down the steps three at a time.

Then, on the last one, her foot slipped.

She felt three of the steps' rock-hard edges dig into her back. She fell sideways, rolled down to the floor below, clutched at her head. Gods, she should have been jumping back to her feet to keep on running, but... which one was the floor, and which was the ceiling? She couldn't properly tell from down there. Oh, her brains hurt like hell, and her back hurt like Oblivion. At least she had landed on something soft... wait, why was it _soft_?

Screaming-Eagle suppressed a horrified yelp and kicked the foul-smelling, _fleshy_ thing away from herself. She scrambled up into a sitting position, and saw one... no, two headless corpses crumpled up and entangled at the base of the stairs, near an old reinforced door. The... the men wore jumpsuits just like hers, except for the fact that one of them was drenched in old blood and filled with stab holes, and the other's back was nothing more than a gaping hole onto his rotten insides. They had killed each other, plain and simple. One of them had used the knife now lodged into the floor, and the other-

Her eyes lit up at the sight of the corpse on top, of the massive crater in his back. Her eyes darted from the brown patches of dried blood on the walls, to the two rotting bodies, to the floor around. Oh, come on, it had to be _somewhere_...

She still didn't hear any footsteps coming her way. So the first thing she did was dropping on all fours and crawling forwards, towards the two carcasses. At any other time, she might have been disgusted by the stench, nauseated by the maggots feasting on the old flesh. Not this time. She pushed the corpse on top off of the other, and ignored the putrid thud it made when it rolled onto its back. Every single part of her was focused on what the other carrion had been clutching at with its desiccated claws, on its black barrel, on its wooden stock and fore end, on the handful of red shells peeping from the dead man's pocket.

The first stomp put her in motion. She ripped the shotgun from the corpse's hands, shaking off the phalanxes still glued to it. Okay, okay, she'd seen Keram-Rei do this a hundred times. The shell she took threatened to slip from her shaking fingers, but she slammed it into the flap ahead of the trigger guard and pushed it in with her thumb until it clicked in place.

Just when she was ready to melt away with satisfaction, a low growl sent shivers down her spine. She turned around, shotgun in hand, and met the ghastly pair of green lenses at the top of the stairs. Gods, how the _fuck_ did that demon do that?

Ah, now... shit, what was she supposed to do? She didn't have the time to load any more shells, one shot would have to do. What did Keram-Rei always do after he reloaded his shotgun? He pushed the lever by the trigger, and... and _what_?

The thing calmly descended the first step, fingers clenching into fists, its breath puffing out in small clouds of acid gas. Had it been human, it would have been gloating, enjoying the kill. With every step it took, it brought back its bear trap arm, further and further back...

Screaming-Eagle cursed at herself for not having thought about it earlier. It was a fucking _pump action shotgun_, for Akatosh's fucking sake! She dragged the forestock back with all of her strength and pumped the shell in.

_Clack-clack._

The creature must have understood what she was doing. It snarled at her, bent its knees and spread its arms open, ready to pounce onto its prey.

She snarled back and pulled the trigger.

A Dragon's roar filled her ears. The shotgun's stock hit her shoulder with the force of a cudgel, nearly throwing her flat on her ass, the weapon all but leaping out of her hands. She held on tight, no matter she could only hear a constant, high-pitched whine and her shoulder was going to hurt for Gods knew how long. Adrenaline quelled the pain, silenced the tinnitus, transformed her determined grimace into a manic grin.

The monster stumbled and fell when her lucky shot hacked its right leg off. It let out what might have been a lament, rolling off of each step with satisfying wet squelches. The thing came to a halt next to the rotting corpses, spasming as a yellow, viscous fluid bled through its respirator and seals, flowed from the stump that ended just below its right knee. Its growls had turned to wheezes by the time the inert calf and foot dropped by their owner's side. The convulsions grew weaker and weaker, until the green light drained from the mask's lenses, and it finally stopped struggling.

Screaming-Eagle stared at the carcass in a mixture of disbelief and joy. It was dead. That inhuman, hideously strong, terribly resilient, frighteningly resolute beast was _dead_. It hadn't taken any advanced spell to kill it, nor any grand tactics. Just a single shot from a common, simple shotgun. She had done it. She had slain that son of a bitch. It wasn't going to hound her any longer – and now that she knew how to kill these inhabitants, the prospect of having to face more galvanized her. She could handle them without a problem, she just needed some more ammo and she'd be ready to-

Before she got carried away and began to picture herself standing victoriously on a pile of hazmat suits, she shook her head, rubbed at her aching shoulder, and turned back to the two men's cadavers. First off, an experience like this was more than enough to last her for about two and a half lifetimes, no need to have a repeat so soon. Second, if she wanted to have a chance at surviving another inevitable encounter, she was going to need all the shells she could find on that unfortunate soul's body.

Patting down on his pockets, she was disappointed to find out fortune hadn't been so generous with her this time around. She stared at the six red cylinders on her palm, but refrained from pouting and started to load them into her shotgun. A few shells were always better than no ammunition at all. She ought to be grateful the Divines had intervened and made her find a good gun and some shots to go with it, or things might have gone very, _very _differently. She would already be in that demon's hands (or stomach) by now, chopped to pieces, ripped to shreds. A shiver ran down her spine at the very thought. Oh, good thing she found the strength to fight back and adapt to the situation. Curiously enough, she had also discovered she was capable of running... not for long, of course, but it was an immense improvement over what she had initially imagined. Without a tail, she'd thought she was going to have to hobble for the rest of her life. Maybe it really _had_ all been in her head, like Keram-Rei had told her...

When her right hand was finally empty, she pumped the first shell ready with a snort. This place had almost gotten to her; like it had with so many others, if the two human bodies at her feet were anything to go by. She wasn't going to surrender, oh no, not now that she could defend herself, not now that this 'Villa' had turned from a straight-out nightmare into a very inhospitable and hostile location. She'd seen plenty of those in her life, this was only a bigger challenge than the others. She could do it.

So she raised her eyes to the steel door before her, the entrance to the basement... and something on the wall to her left caught her eye. She frowned slightly at the writing, at its letters, how they had been impressed there... then she finally managed to decipher what the words said.

And she burst out laughing.

**ᎮOᗡ HELPƧ THOƧE WHO HELP THEMƧELVEƧ**

"That he does." Screaming-Eagle chuckled to herself, her hand already on the door's handle. She'd needed a good laugh with all the stress she'd been through in the past... hours, she imagined. "That he does..."

The rusty hinges creaked when she pushed them open, revealing the darkness beyond. Light spells were out of the question at this point, so she limited herself to turning the luminosity knob on the side of her Pip-Boy, which had been cranked to the minimum up until then. Its suffused green glow grew stronger, as intense as a large light bulb, allowing her to notice the set of stairs a moment before she plunged nose-first into the abyss and broke her neck.

She didn't dare to let go of her weapon; instead, she held it at rest across her chest, and to avoid misstepping and spraining an ankle, she limited herself to leaning against the sides of the stairs. All pretense of decoration the upstairs had displayed disappeared here, replaced by the bleak, cracked concrete of the walls, by the metal steps like a gangway's, by the uncovered cables hanging overhead. The air was dank, stale, moldy, but definitely easier to breathe. The red mist had even less influence on underground structures, it seemed. Good to know.

Just as she set foot onto the solid floor, she heard a crackle of static.

"_I k__new you would come, below the cage..._" A deep, measured voice spoke. She gripped her shotgun tighter, began to raise it, when the bruise made her flinch in pain. Shit. "_Down to where I am. Maybe you saw the letters I scratched on the Villa walls._"

Letters...? Oh, _those _letters. She almost giggled at the thought. 'God helps those who'... no. She wiped the smirk from her face: no more distractions. This was serious, funny coincidences aside. It might have been a recording or someone else actually talking to her right now, but she decided not to interrupt. If it wasn't, and this guy was anything like the old man – and his tone undeniably sounded as self-righteous, if not more – maybe shutting up might have been a good idea. She really wasn't in the mood for threats and snarls, or she may just answer in kind.

The voice didn't continue. She aimed her shotgun at the rotten wood crates down there, at the empty barrels of fuel, at the odd generator still humming along. She had no choice but to go on, march towards the vacant doorframe a few feet to her right, into a short service corridor.

"_A little farther..._" The voice spoke up again, incited her, its echo distorted by her surroundings. "_Follow my voice... that is it._" He paused for a moment; she swept her gun through the next hall. Nothing. "_The one in the cage? Dog. I had to lock him up. He keeps... _disobeying_ me._"

Screaming-Eagle scowled at the ceiling, for a lack of better targets. _Dog? _Who... who in Oblivion was _Dog_? What cage was this man talking about? Bah, no matter. Once she found him, she'd have an answer to those questions and many more. She simply had to cross the small maintenance room up ahead, empty save for a few workbenches and a lit terminal. She approached the boxy screen and tapped the 'enter' key, but the only three entries in there read about vending machines, some sort of search, and... parking tickets? Hmph. Useless.

She passed into the corridor beyond and continued her trudge through the snaking hallways, her footsteps echoing in the dark. She wasn't too sure how many minutes she had spent walking, the atmosphere didn't help at all... yet after a while she found herself staring at a metal door blocking her path. She hesitated for a moment. Left with no other choice, though, she set her shoulders, squared her jaw, turned the handle and pushed it open.

The rather large closet beyond was almost empty. A row of four aged filing cabinets covered the wall to her right, left there to collect dust and rust away into nothingness. A desk not unlike those on the ground floor had been positioned straight in front of her, on the wall opposite the entrance. On it were an old ham radio, the speakers on either side whispering their static, and a small, white-and-black square of plastic.

"_That is me, there, on the table._" The resonant words echoed from the radio. He almost sounded pleased with her progress. "_The disk. My voice._"

Certain that the non-existent danger was now officially over, Screaming-Eagle held her shotgun with only her left hand, and walked up to the writing table. Well, that tiny item was apparently a holodisk, or holotape, or whatever their actual name was supposed to be. She might be able to insert it into the tray over her Pip-Boy's screen and play it, or read it.

"_I cannot__ take any chances, though..._" The voice quickly added; he had to be... concerned, if possible. "_You may be some victim who simply stumbled down here. If so, I cannot let you get Dog out... no, not yet._"

Again with that caged 'Dog'. Was he talking about a literal dog, or was he speaking through metaphors? Some twisted... animistic belief, perhaps? Maybe it was a recording of a prayer, so he could free his soul? Or was he just insane? Hmm... yes, the latter was the most likely.

"_If you are who I think you are, you came to fetch Dog, _use_ him to drag others here._" The recording suddenly growled. It went silent for a moment, followed by a snort. "_Now I will use you – and that Pip-Boy you are wearing. You are smart. Clever._"

She blew a snort of her own, muttering under her breath. "Well, thank you very much..."

"_Take my voice to the cage above._" The voice told her simply. "_Let me speak to the beast inside._"

Screaming-Eagle took the holotape in her right hand, turned it between her fingers. There was only one word written on it, in the same black ink, in the same blocky handwriting as the phrase on the wall. It only confirmed what the recording had said.

**KEY**

"_Then, you and I... _we_ can talk._"


	33. Screaming at God

_Beep._

_Beep._

_Crash._

Screaming-Eagle huffed to herself, kicking the shattered remains of the radio away. She set her shotgun on the now empty desk, rotated her shoulders to loosen up her fatigued muscles a bit, and took the holotape from her breast pocket and into her right hand. The cage above, the beast inside... she had roamed through the corridors and halls for at least half an hour in her search for something that matched such a nonsensical description, and she'd come up with nothing.

Then, almost by chance, she had stumbled upon the holding cells. The smaller ones on the side hallways were empty save for old, dusty skeletons gripping at the bars; prisoners who had died of thirst and hunger, or had choked on the deadly air. Perhaps they had been forgotten by the guards when the bombs fell, or when the Cloud had blanketed the city. Nothing spectacular. The Thalmor in Skyrim had intentionally been capable of much worse. As for the large, collective one, though...

She narrowed her eyes on the hulking creature huddled in there, mewling and mumbling in its madness. Or, well, _his_ madness, given the depth of his tone. He might have been human in the very loose sense of the term, in the way he had legs, arms, a head, an overall humanoid shape – but there was nothing human about his complexion. His skin tended towards a blue-grayish tone, like a cold cadaver's lips, and it was marred by countless scars. Bite marks, bullet holes, claw signs, scratches, old blade wounds, burns; there didn't seem to be an inch of his body that hadn't been injured at one point. His sheer size suggested he had to be well over seven feet tall when standing, and he was easily as broad as Eyes-Of-Silver. His shoulders were enormous, his hands capable of fully enclosing her skull, his form bare save for a tattered brown cloth on his waist, filthy bandages poorly covering the largest of his scars, and thick, rusty chains wrapped on his arms, around his neck.

"Well, you're in a cage, and you certainly look beastly enough to me..." Screaming-Eagle hummed pensively at the monster, not really caring if he replied or not. He would have looked pitiful to anyone in this state, yet... some innate instinct told her not to get too close. She decided to keep her distance from the cell, just to be sure, and cleared her throat to address him. "Are you the 'beast inside'?"

He didn't even turn to look at her. He simply whined and moaned louder at the sound of her voice, rocking back and forth like a frightened child who had just been bawled by his mother. "No, Dog be good next time, Master... Dog no run away..."

Her eyes widened in surprise. _Dog? _Could it be the very same 'Dog' she'd been told about? Yes, trapped in a cage, nothing more than a beast... it had to be him. It made sense. She simply hadn't expected it to be an actual name. And that voice... there was no mistaking the monster for anyone else. This had to be the same man of the recording downstairs. She recognized the rich baritone, altered though it may be by bestial insanity and primeval fear. How had he registered all of his speech, though? She had no idea. She would have asked, but she doubted he could answer her... by Oblivion, he probably hadn't even _heard _her. Then how had he set up the little show in the basement? This wretch was anything but coherent, let alone intelligent or resourceful. He did remind her of a beaten, caged dog in this state, come to think of it...

There was nothing to gain from talking to him now. Either she returned at a later date, wasting hours she wasn't sure she possessed, or she forced that cursed cell open with whatever means necessary: namely, magic. Truth be told, neither of those options sounded particularly appealing to her, since they were certain to dictate her demise in any case. Left with no other choice, she decided to do as the 'voice' had told her. She pushed the holotape into her Pip-Boy's tray and punched it closed. The machine whirred for a moment, then beeped its recognition. She turned the larger knob by the screen, went to the files menu, disk panel, and... well, she had nothing to lose by trying, did she?

Screaming-Eagle shrugged and hit the 'Play' button.

"_Dog!_" The voice from downstairs barked with vehemence, in the exact same tone of a dog owner reproaching his unruly pet. "_Back in the cage!_"

The creature stopped trembling at once. He waited for a few moments, almost as if to make sure he had heard correctly. He then began to straighten up his spine, crane his neck, and finally hauled himself to his feet. He truly wasn't quite as tall as Eyes-Of-Silver, but she supposed the difference hardly mattered – he was still a mountain of a non-human. When he stood, though, he was hunched over, as though the muscles of his back and shoulders submerged those of his neck. He cracked his knuckles, stretched his arms and legs and, just when she was about to bark at him to move up, he turned to face her.

Despite his abominable features, she recognized surprise when she saw it. One of his eyes was wide open under the craggy brows, showing its sickly yellow sclera and its intense tangerine iris; the other one was barely visible, tumefied as it was, covered both by a broken cheekbone and a malformed eyebrow. His thick lips had the shape of a rictus grin, although she wasn't entirely certain he could move them. Perhaps something had happened to his facial muscles. As if nature hadn't been cruel enough with him, someone (likely he himself) had carved the word 'DOG' in the middle of his chest, leaving behind a sickening pale scar. His muscles bulged with restrained power under the layer of ashen skin, very similar to a human's, but... not quite. They were too large, too misshapen and irregular, too... _wrong_ to be a man's muscles.

All in all, he had to be one of the ugliest creatures she had ever had the disgrace to set her eyes upon.

"This was... completely unexpected." He murmured to himself, his voice now identical to the recording. His lips always returned to that twisted grimace after each... pause. "Where has Dog been this time? How far has he walked this wretched Earth to drag something like you here, to the Sierra Madre?"

Screaming-Eagle made an attempt at parsing what he was saying, but the effort was lost. How in Oblivion had his attitude changed _so much_? One moment he was there, sitting on the ground, desperately calling for some Master – and now he regarded her with an eye as curious and disdainful as hers, with words that she may have actually spoken sometime in the past. Uncertain what to do, she remained silent. This... thing, whatever it was, had obviously been damaged in both body and mind.

When he saw she wasn't going to speak, he let out a grim chuckle. "Still, no matter where a taciturn reptile such as yourself came from, you had enough sense to take direction. Good. It shows you cannot be a complete idiot..." Then his eye fell down to her forearm, and he let out a sonorous snort. "Or perhaps you are, with that leash on your arm and the one around your neck... with our collars and manacles, why, we may as well be kin."

The creature's words made her ball her fists at her sides. She was _nothing _like that thing. She glared back into his mismatched eyes, and growled. She had no idea what he meant by 'collars and manacles', but by the Gods, she wasn't about to allow him to talk to her that way. "Just be grateful I found that tape. I am no kin of yours, 'Dog'."

"Dog? Oh, no, I am afraid I am not Dog." The thing retorted, amused in spite of his haunting expression. "I am the... voice of reason. I sleep sometimes... down in the basement, in the cage. Now that I am awake, Dog goes back in the cage." He calmly tapped a finger on his forehead. "Dog knows I am here, but he cannot do anything about it. I am his... conscience. I keep him tame, I keep him from hurting us... from doing foolish things. "

She tried not to step back when he said 'us'. She wasn't afraid of that being, not excessively at any rate, but... by the Divines, he was absolutely _insane_. Split personality. He spoke of Dog and himself as though they were two separate entities sharing the same body, as though they weren't the same, disturbed mind at war with itself. Like... yes, he talked like Keram-Rei did about that fiendish Treads-In-Gloom. Unlike the battlemage, though, they... _he_ couldn't have possibly angered a Daedric Prince. There was no way in Oblivion this hideous monster had been punished by being united with another one. He was just crazy. He must have grown more and more deranged with time, or perhaps he had been born or created that way, not completely sane to begin with.

"I have been trapped here for quite some time, then _you_, a creature the likes of which I have never heard of, came along and let me out." He continued, going so far as to raise his only functioning eyebrow to better stare at her. "So... you must have opened my cage for a reason. Now... now I want to know why."

"You want to know why?" Screaming-Eagle blurted out in a mixture of puzzlement and annoyance, spreading her arms incredulously. "By the Divines, has it even _occurred_ to you that you're the only living being inside of this accursed police station?" She shook her head at his frown and waved him off. Wrong approach. "Listen... bah, no matter, maybe you can help me. I'm looking for someone with a collar like mine. He or she is supposed to be strong, docile, and an... FEV subject, whatever in Oblivion _that _means." She pointed at her neck for emphasis. "Seen anyone like that?"

The creature knitted his brows for a few seconds, studying her, sizing her up. In the end, he folded his mighty arms across his chest and began to laugh softly. It was a deep, rumbling sound, yet it was nothing like Eyes-Of-Silver's jolly laughter. This one was... much more sinister. It had an underlying menace to it, a promise of darkness and violence. "It appears you have found your 'Collar', reptile." His rictus curled upwards a bit more. "Although one may object I am not very docile, and I lack the true strength of this body... yes, you are looking for Dog, it seems. Both Dog and I share the form of an FEV subject all right. A... 'super mutant', as humans would call us. A hunter, a master of the shadows. We are Nightkin."

Her jaw very nearly dropped in confusion. Was she supposed to bring him... them... _that thing_ along? Someone who couldn't even properly decide whom he had to play as for the next five minutes, who gave space to another character just by listening to a voice message left in a damn basement, who changed between singular and plural pronouns seemingly at random? Who the _fuck_ was the old man trying to gather as his team? An Argonian Archmage and Dragonborn who could hardly use a spell without killing herself, a 'Nightkin' with two personalities that were each the total opposite of the other... she dreaded to think what other surprises may be waiting for her.

She massaged her aching temples, trying in vain to quell the beginnings of a headache. Ugh, alright, fine, she would have time to question the insane orders of a madman later. Now was time for the questions that might actually have answers. She copied the mutant's posture and narrowed her eyes further. "Okay, fine, so _you_ are the one I'm looking for. I guess that makes it easier... somewhat." She unwillingly found herself staring at his neck, covered in chains, a hook or two, and tatters, but... nothing else. Strange. "But if you're the one I'm supposed to talk to, where is your collar?"

"It is close." The Nightkin grunted out in reply, bitter. His whole form tensed as he spoke. "Closer than I would like... Dog has been into things. Gah, that fool needs to think before he eats, he must chew before he swallows. He is... eager that way." He drummed fingers the size of police batons against his abdomen. They made dry, rhythmic thuds on the thick skin. "Now the collar is a part of me, inside." His tapping grew slower, more regular. "I can feel its electronic heartbeat, clicking and burning down below... like before. It was cold and heavy before going in the cage... and now you are here, and it is pulling and kicking again, tugging like a leash." He stopped rapping his fingertips, cocking his head to one side and letting out a perplexed hum. "Interesting."

Screaming-Eagle might have had many questions for this... super mutant (idiotic though the name may be, it was actually quite fitting). After this explanation, however, only one pushed up through the crowd and to the front of her mind. "Why... how the _fuck_ did you eat a collar?" She knocked on the one she wore to drive her point across. "Are you really that stupid? These things aren't small!"

"Listen, reptile, it is not _my_ fault, do not presume to address to me in that way!" The mutant rumbled, his teeth grinding noisily. His horrendous mouth took the form of a snarl. "These collars, they... detach. When segmented, they look nothing more than metallic radscorpions... and if they are attached to neck flesh, warm, red..." He let out a disgusted, infuriated grunt. "Dog does not care what lies on the body he is crushing in his hands. He will mangle it, twist it, make it fit until he is _full_. Dog cannot help himself... hungry... _greedy_. Damned idiot, I cannot believe he swallowed his own collar, after we almost got away... and he screws it all up!" He all but roared. When he noticed she'd gone closer to the desk where her shotgun lay, he sighed, and tentatively patted his own stomach. Then, he harrumphed. "Hmph. Losing my temper will not undo the fool's deeds. Now the collar is inside, alive again. And_ we _are trapped here until it goes cold."

Screaming-Eagle blinked, perplexed. He was trapped in there, true... but something just didn't click. If he really had been imprisoned, then how had he managed to set up all the recordings that had pointed her here? He had mentioned the fact the beast had been caged, down in the police station's basement, yet now that she thought about it, that made absolutely no sense. How could he have known he was going to be trapped and still have done nothing to prevent it? It was almost as though...

Oh, _motherfucker_.

"Like _fuck _you're trapped!" She snapped at him, her anger flaring at the sudden realization, her nails digging into her palms lest she tried to stick them through the bars and into his eyes. "You decided to get in there yourself – and I bet you've got the key hidden somewhere in those chains! What the fuck are you waiting for? I've got to assemble a crew, so stop talking about your Gods-damned internal struggles and wasting my time, and get out of that cell if you can!"

The Nightkin considered her words. In the end, he slowly shook his head and chuckled. "No... no, I do not think so." He stated simply. "Even in here, I have more control than you do with your shouts and your wrath. I am not leaving until the one who controls these collars shows not his voice, not his hand, not his _lackey_ – but himself." He faced away from her with a dismissive gesture. "When he comes to see me, we shall settle things. So go on, go back to your master, and tell him I am waiting for him. Dog may follow him. I will _not_."

Screaming-Eagle clenched her jaw tight, bit down the howls and curses she felt rising up, ready to be spat at the lumbering oaf. Oh, if he had just been an oaf... no, she had to find and try to convince the smart, self-righteous bastard instead. She ignored the way her left eye twitched, and tried not to scream her next words. "I don't know if you've noticed, _mutant_, but I didn't exactly come here to get this collar on my neck by _choice_. If that weren't enough, I've got no clue as to where he's hiding, and if we don't do as he says, that old son of a whore will set off our collars." She raised her index finger in front of herself, even though he still wasn't looking. "They're linked, and that means one detonates, just _one_, and they all blow up. We all die."

"Then I still win." The super mutant asserted, glancing over his shoulder with his good eye and an expression which could only be classified as uninterested. "I would rather die in this cage than have Dog follow him any longer... follow his orders, his commands, desperate for recognition." He gave her an unassuming shrug. "The Old Man... he has the need to hold on, hold on to the past, to the Madre... I would rather be free, let go of this shell, than have it cage me any longer."

"Oh, you go on like that, and I will be fucking sure to free you of your Gods-damned shell when I get this collar off..." She growled at him, fangs bared, feathers raised, eyes narrowed. "You know I can't do anything with you sitting here like a stubborn little brat... oh, of course you do, don't you? You just think you're the receptacle of absolute truth, assume yours is the only opinion that matters. Well, guess what?" She banged a fist on her chest. "I actually _care_ about this 'shell' of mine, tailless or no, and I won't let a fucking mutant get me killed!" She marched up to the edge of the cell, hissing at his back. "You think I enjoy being tied down and leashed, following that old bastard's whims, always under the threat of an explosive sword of Damocles? I want to get out of this hell, and you're going to help me, like it or not!"

The mutant faced about, only to throw her a dirty look and snort. "Are you listening to yourself, reptile? At first, I thought you were nothing but the hand of the Old Man, nothing more than a slave, a victim, ready to be corrupted by the Sierra Madre and its promises..." He snickered grimly and sketched a smile from the height of his superiority. "Why, now I discover you are just as determined and demanding as him – perhaps you are already looking forward to usurping him and taking the treasure for yourself, like all the humans before you... it would not surprise me if you had followed the signal here, and your own greed were the cause of your downfall. You do not care about a word I have said, and still you come here, keep on spouting out your orders despite being in no position of vantage, ready to force me if you had a chance?" His rictus grin took the shape of a grimace. "Begone, lizard. I have no need for your demands, nor do I intend to heed them. Go and tell your Old Man I will not be joining his project like a good little _Dog_."

She stared at his form for a moment longer, unsure on what to feel. Then, she squared her shoulders and began to stomp away from him, away from his cell, boiling and shuddering with suppressed fury under her silent facade. There was no persuading him, it seemed. Nothing she said was going to move that slab of muscle or make him change his presumptuous, disdainful mind.

So she grabbed her shotgun from its desk and aimed it squarely at his chest.

"Listen here, you repugnant, colossal, blue-gray _fuck_." Screaming-Eagle crowed at him, seething, her finger on the trigger, ready to blast that Gods-damned scar into a bloody crater. "I don't give two shits about what you or whoever the fuck else you've got in that ugly-ass head of yours think of me, I've got nothing to prove to _you_! You think you're special because there's two of you in that thick skull? Guess what, you fucking _aren't_! I know at least two people in worse conditions than yours, and they're two of the toughest bastards I've ever met in my entire fucking life – unlike _you_ with your high and mighty attitude! One of them's got a literal demon gnawing away at his sanity, and he's still holding onto it, still fighting, still managing to be an amazing cook and _still _able to win my heart, and the other one starts off talking like a nobleman, then he goes berserk and howls in fucking _Scottish_ whenever he gets about half as furious as I am right now! I'm nothing like that self-absorbed, white-haired, manipulative, deluded _motherfucker_!" She screeched, each and every one of her nerves telling her to pull the trigger, carve him open, make him pay for what he had dared to say.

He tried to raise a hand, stop her, but she only pumped a shell into the receiver to drown any sentence he may speak. "AND I'M NOT JUST A FUCKING REPTILE, I'M AN _ARGONIAN_!I AM _SCREAMING-EAGLE_, DRAGONBORN, ARCHMAGE OF WINTERHOLD, LEGATE OF THE IMPERIAL LEGION, AND I SURE AS _FUCK_ DON'T NEED NO GODDAMN TREASURE! I DIDN'T LISTEN TO ANY SIGNAL, I DIDN'T EVEN KNOW THIS SHITHOLE EXISTED, AND MOST IMPORTANT OF ALL, I'VE NEVER HEARD OF THIS FUCKING TREASURE, WHATEVER THE FUCK IT'S SUPPOSED TO BE!" She pumped another shell into the shotgun to emphasize, and to take a moment to breathe from her snarling. "ALL I WANT RIGHT NOW IS TO KILL THAT OLD COCKSUCKER, GO HOME, GET MY MAGIC BACK, GO BACK TO ALL OF MY FUCKING _FRIENDS_, AND FEEL LIKE A MOTHERFUCKING _IDIOT_ FOR WHAT I'VE SAID AND DONE – AND YOU AIN'T GETTING IN MY WAY, _MUTIE-BOY_! FUCK THIS PLACE, FUCK THE OLD MAN, AND _FUCK YOU_!"

She felt her heart beat like a wardrum in her chest, her blood flow like fire in her veins, her breath hiss like steam through her teeth. All of her senses were focused on the Nightkin in front of her, on his astounded and deformed face, on the 'DOG' scar in her sights. She wasn't his kin, and she wasn't the old man, not in the slightest. She was _herself_ – and not a single word that the mutant spewed out could convince her otherwise. She had found the strength to get to the police station, get over her trauma, and adapt to the hostile Villa with nothing but her sheer determination and stubbornness. What had _he_ done instead? All he had accomplished was to hide away in a cage, hoping his foe and biggest problem would be so stupid as to come to him because he couldn't face him right now, because he had no control over his own body and brain. He had no right to speak to her like that.

The mutant looked into her eyes with surprise. He arched his only good eyebrow, made to open his mouth...

And laughed.

He laughed, and laughed, and_ laughed_, holding onto his belly and nearly doubling over. It was nothing like the other time; now he guffawed merrily like no tomorrow. There was no underlying evil in his booming voice, no menace, no threat, only plain and immense hilarity. His whole body shook as he tried to hide his face in his huge hand, and his laughter only grew louder, forcing him to support himself with his cage's bars before he fell to the floor.

"What... what's so funny about this?!" Screaming-Eagle squawked, uncertain of what to do, her aim wavering at the sight of the super mutant's amusement. She had been expecting many things, but... she hadn't foreseen that reaction, and she definitely hadn't planned for the eventuality. Had he finally snapped? Had she finally broken his unstable mind with her outrage? "What the fuck is wrong with you?"

The Nightkin raised his eyes to meet hers, and broke into another fit of hysterics. He managed to master himself soon enough, barring the odd chuckle, and assumed his hunched posture once more. He coughed a few times to stabilize himself, then addressed her at last, his twisted smile showing the dark ochre teeth beneath his scarred lips. "Forgive me... I had almost forgotten what it meant to laugh sincerely. There are no real chances for that here, in the Sierra Madre, and certainly not with Dog to look after at all times." He waved his hand, almost as if to wipe the words away and move on to the next topic. "As for your question... nothing is wrong with me, Dog really is not the type to laugh when he takes over, he tends to be rather... savage, and ravenous. I am still myself. No, no, I merely find you... amusing."

Her arms fell to her sides in surprise, and she all but let go of her shotgun. She couldn't possibly hope to cope with what the mutant had just said. "You... I... _amusing_?"

"Yes, amusing, funny... hilarious, even, in this case." The super mutant confirmed, nodding. "For example, what on Earth made you think I would be so easily swayed by the sight of a simple shotgun, after I told you I am more than ready to die... more than ready to embrace freedom and shrug off my chains?" He pointed at the gun in question with one of his enormous fingers. "And the fact you seem to forget that by killing me, you would kill _yourself_, of course. Not to mention, you ejected two perfectly good, unfired shells in your fit of rage. It is not the brightest of ideas, not if you intend to survive against the... inhabitants."

Screaming-Eagle's burning wrath was snuffed out like a candle by the Nightkin's words. In a flush of embarrassment, she tried to glance away from his steely gaze, as though she had said nothing and the true responsible were hiding somewhere behind her. Gods, he was right, why had she let his stupid words go to her head instead of keeping her cool... now she had made a fool out of herself. Oh, Divines, there just seemed to be no end to how many times she acted like an idiot and only realized it once it was too late... maybe she could still avoid his stare and sniggers as she picked up the two lost shells, which had rolled away under a chair, and loaded them back into the shotgun. Stupid, stupid, _stupid_...

"And perhaps you have forgotten the most important detail, reptile." The Nightkin went on, now completely serious. "Has the Old Man not told you how these collars work? He can... listen. They are his ears. He can hear your every word, make sure you have no initiative, undo any higher plans between his pawns, see that no... _treasonous_ ideas are spoken." He chuckled. "So perhaps it _is_ a good thing that Dog swallowed his collar. Anyone listening would find it difficult to hear past the... digestion. But what about yours?"

She froze on the spot. Suddenly, the collar she wore became as tight as a noose, as heavy as lead. She... she had said she would have killed the old man, and she had gone so far as to insult him with no thought of consequences, called him for what he really was. Divines, was... was it growing hotter on her neck? Oh, Gods, it... it felt so. She tried to clutch at it, her fingers frantically sliding over the edges in search of a weak spot, a fissure she could use to rip it off. No, no, if the bastard had even caught a glimpse of her conversation she was done for, dead! Was it vibrating now? No, those were her hands shaking... how long did she have left?

The mutant snorted. She raised her head to look at him, wide-eyed with fear, and noticed that rictus of his had taken the form of a sneer. Cruel, amused, and haughty.

"Thank your 'Divines' the air here is... cluttered, for lack of a better word." He told her, shaking his head and clucking in _disappointment_. "The radios you must have surely come across? They are a threat for us leashed dogs, sure... yet I have discovered their signal can block out the Old Man's. They were already here when I came, and I made use of them, in a manner of speaking. And the alarm outside, drawing the residents to this police station with its incessant noise... another layer of white noise to ensure privacy. You are free to speak your mind here – but remember, this does not hold true for the rest of the Villa. Watch your tongue outside."

Screaming-Eagle felt like biting his face off, her relief overpowered by anger once more. She tried not to be too obvious in placing a hand over her heart, and thus moved it so it seemed she was looking for something in her pocket. That didn't stop him from tittering. "Are you done with driving me insane?! You're having the time of your life in there, and I still don't have my crew member! Make up your Gods-damned minds already, mutant."

"Oh, rest assured I have." The Nightkin answered after a moment of reflection. He regarded her with curiosity, bent forwards a bit so he could see her at eye level. "You are... interesting. In our long years, Dog and I have met countless humans, ghouls and super mutants... needless to say, I have learned that nobody deserves any form of trust. Sincerity and honesty are not something of this world. The Sierra Madre and the people who came to it, like moths flittering towards a flame, are the prime example of that. All of them wanted to go home at first, but then they allowed greed to take over them, turned on one another in the name of their lust for treasure... and in the end, they all perished." He tilted his head, raising his good brow. "And yet you are not human. I do not know your species, and that is cause enough to trust you even _less_. But... irritable, contemptuous and arrogant though you may be, you seem to be determined, stubborn and, dare I say it, _earnest_. It appears to me that-"

"Just get to the fucking point." She growled. She drummed her fingers on her shotgun, doing her damnedest not to open fire on him in annoyance. "You're logorrheic in the extreme, mutant."

"... That we may have a common goal after all." He finished with a flick of his wrist, unfazed. "Neither of us have any interest in the promises of the Sierra Madre, no, we both want to exact vengeance on the man who has brought us to our knees, leashed us, _humiliated us_. I can respect that. I can respect your attitude, the hate and rage burning within you... it is so familiar. Why, though you denied it with such vehemence, perhaps we truly are kin after all." His chuckle echoed in the enclosed space, rumbled like malevolent thunder. "If your actions are half as fierce as your words, then yes... I can see your presence here will be the Old Man's downfall."

Screaming-Eagle had been ready to tell him to go to Oblivion, but then she paid attention to what he had actually said, and frowned suspiciously. That didn't sound like the previous 'get lost and do as I say' argument they had reserved for each other up until then. Was he actually... _sympathizing_ with her? Divines, not being verbally attacked by the mutant felt so odd; not having a reply to his monologue, especially no insult, was just as strange. It definitely was a nice change of pace, a breath of fresh air... well, metaphorically speaking, of course.

The super mutant didn't go any further with his speech. He tramped up to the edge of his cell, where the locked door stood between himself and freedom, and reached with a hand behind his back. The chains rattled for a moment or two and, when he removed his hand, she saw he'd plucked a small, anonymous key from the depths of his bindings. Careful not to shatter it in his large fingers, he thrust his hand through the bars, inserting the key into the lock on the outside, and turned it.

_Click-click._

_Clack._

She found herself smirking as the gate swung open, its rusted hinges creaking and squealing with age. The mutant stepped outside without even examining his surroundings: he advanced on her, up until he was no more than three feet away from her, and glared down. "Remember, _Argonian_... we are not friends. Our hatred for our common foe far surpasses whatever enmity may lay between us, but do not think, even for one second, that I _trust_ you."

Screaming-Eagle glowered back, raising her shotgun closer to her chest, and smiled broadly enough to show him her fangs. He was as imposing as he could possibly get, hideous to look at, and his rank breath smelled of death – probably was as deadly as the Cloud, far as she was concerned. Still, she beheld it all. She couldn't afford to show fear, and answered through menace herself. "On that we can agree, _Nightkin_."

He brushed past her without even considering the underlying threat, deftly avoiding the desks and rubble despite his size and obvious deformities. What an interesting, proud, and loathsome being. There was much to learn from his twin personalities, from the concealed bestial rage and its calculating side, now dominant. She couldn't deny her morbid curiosity, her wish to understand how his torn mind worked. A shame that he was now going away...

Hold on, _going away_?

"Hey, wait!" She squeaked, clutching her gun tighter for comfort. She hadn't given him a piece of her mind and nearly popped an aneurysm in freeing him just to have him walk away like that. Besides, horrible both in body and mind though he may be, he was still a massive improvement of her chances of survival, as opposed to her being utterly alone and under-armed to fend off for herself. "We're supposed to go _together_!"

At that, he hesitated. He appeared to argue with himself for a moment; the dispute was swiftly ended with a growl, and he deliberately turned towards her, pointing at the ground at his feet without even attempting an apology. "Of course, I forget you are not accustomed to the Sierra Madre... now get a move on. The Old Man does not wait for your leisures, and neither will I."

Screaming-Eagle hastened to reach his side, tempted to punch him for a foolish moment. She ultimately ditched the idea when they started following the labyrinthine corridors back towards the exit. It would have been a great result if she even gave him a small bruise with her strongest hit, while he could interpret it as an assault and may very well break all of her teeth off with a backhander. He was nothing like Keram-Rei. She couldn't be angry, or playful, or even use small talk with a beast that didn't have the most remote idea of whom she was. So she decided to keep cold and detached, like she had always been with everyone a while ago, and didn't reply to his awful manners. The only thing to gain from it would have been a headache. Neither of them trusted the other, right? No point in faking friendship where there may be none.

* * *

After a while, she began to notice these corridors were... unfamiliar. She had never been known for her sense of direction, but she would have remembered a crumbled wall that revealed the remains of more offices beyond, or another headless skeleton clawing at the spear lodged into his spine, _or_ the fact there seemed to be no speakers and radios here. No, this had to be somewhere new, a part of the police station she had entirely ignored in her searches for him. Where was he taking her? In doubt, she held her gun at the ready. Either to some secluded section of the building, in which case she was ready to rip one of his arms off if he wanted to try something funny, or he was merely leading her through some secondary exit he had used to get inside. After all, this was an awfully quiet route, and it seemed to be a convenient enough way to navigate the station.

"Where are we going?" Screaming-Eagle finally decided to ask, infusing as much vexation as she could into her voice to suppress her anxiety. It wouldn't do to drop the act and actually sound worried. "The old man does not wait for your leisures, after all, and neither will I."

The Nightkin ignored her question. He didn't even turn around, he only groaned at his own remark used against him. "How many shells have you got for that weapon?"

"Well, I..." She began, then shut her mouth and looked down at her shotgun. She sighed in defeat. "Six. All of them already loaded."

"Then that is answer enough." He grumbled back, entertained. "We cannot have you run out of ammunition against the residents and die like an idiot because you did not resupply. I believe I know where the humans used to hold their weapons."

Screaming-Eagle raised a brow at the answer she got. She preferred to avoid mentioning her gratitude, and simply kept on following his lead. Wouldn't want to thank him, only to hear some more garbage about how he wasn't doing it for her, but he was just trying to keep her alive long enough for him to get to the old man and wring his neck, because they weren't friends and he didn't care if everyone died so long as he got his revenge, yadda yadda yadda. She'd already framed his type, mostly because he was frighteningly similar to her under a few aspects.

Not that she would ever admit it and concede he was right, of course. Did she sound like that to her friends? No, she... wasn't all that obnoxious, was she? Bah, who cared, they weren't there with her, she would have time for them later. Her issue was with the mutant. No matter what he might have said about his hatred and Dog, it was _her_ who would kill the old man, no matter the motives he had to avenge himself. That bastard had fucked with her, her life and, most important of all, her _magic_. He wasn't getting away with that. Oh, she was going to shove her gun's barrel into his mouth, crack his teeth kicking his jaw closed on it, and-

Bump into the Nightkin, so distracted as she was with vengeful thoughts.

"Watch your step, Argonian, carelessness will only bring you into the maws of a bear trap." He snarled, glaring down at her from over his shoulder. Then, when he noticed she had barely moved, he hurriedly stepped away from her, as though she were the carrier of some terrible disease. "Now arm yourself, and be quick about it."

She avoided asking the reason for his obvious dislike of physical contact. That head of his was home to two people, a smaller problem such as that was nothing compared to Divines knew how many disturbs plagued him... besides, she wasn't too fond of people getting touchy with her, either. Instead, she gazed in the direction of his pointed finger, and saw a plain metal door at the end of the hallway. On it, two words stood out, stenciled in white faded letters against the blue steel.

_**ARSENAL**_

**ARMORY**

Oh, well, that had been surprisingly helpful and straightforward of him, but it wasn't going to change her opinion in any way. She gingerly stepped up to the entrance, took hold of the doorknob, and expectantly twisted it in her grip.

Nothing happened.

"Dammit, it's locked." She hissed under her breath, grimacing. There went her only chance at finding the ammo she desperately needed, all because of someone who had been smart enough to lock the door before everything had gone to shit.

Behind her, the Nightkin huffed and muttered something to himself. An instant later, large fingers grabbed her by the shoulder and unceremoniously shoved her aside. Before she could curse at him for having _dared_ to be so much of a lout and lay one of his enormous hands on her, she saw a massive grayish foot slam into the locked door with the force of a battering ram. She instinctively clasped her hands to her hearing canals as the door crashed to the ground, the clangor of the impact shaking up her boots. The mutant dusted his hands as the small cloud of dirt settled around his bare feet, visibly pleased with himself.

"Now the lock is no more." He announced, giving her a mocking shake of his head. "Really, I cannot begin to fathom why so many of you... _guests_ went around locked doors or searched for non-existent keys instead of simply breaking through them." His eye fell to her gun. "Despite your obvious frailty, you are armed. You could have simply shot the lock, for example."

"And you could simply _shut up_ for once." Screaming-Eagle dismissed him with a threatening wave of her shotgun. Or at least, she hoped it was threatening. "And don't you ever lay a hand on me again, Nightkin. _Ever._"

If only there were a way to make him stay quiet for five minutes... this big bastard was starting to try her patience. Gods, it was so annoying to have someone tease her for a simple error, or have a remark ready for whatever she did or said – it had already happened twice in something like twenty minutes. Most important of all, he had touched her and pushed her around by force. He did it again, she was going to bite his grubby fingers off.

She heard him blow an amused snort while she traipsed inside, carefully going around the door, but she didn't pay him any heed. What mattered to her was finding ammunition in this old, cramped room, with another door at the very end leading to Julianos knew where. A thin red patina of Cloud mixed with the film of dust and gave the whole armory a faint, muddy red look. The square lights embedded into the roof must have failed long ago; only one cast its flickering dirty light onto the twin rows of white lockers in the middle of the room, and on the bare steel gun racks on either side of her. The one on the left housed a single shotgun perfectly identical to hers, complete with a few pistols hanging just over it, while the one on the right held a trio of compact submachine guns. Tempting though it may be to take one, she hadn't the faintest idea how to operate an automatic gun, and she suspected they weren't all that great at dismembering anything.

Okay, shotgun. She didn't waste any time checking the one by the wall, since it was bound to have been empty for two hundred years anyway. She rather went for the lockers in front of the rack, where she imagined a police or security officer would keep his or her ammunition. All one, two... _eight_ of them had been slammed open, emptied of everything save for grime. No, not all of them: the one on the bottom right had been left just barely ajar, maybe by some distracted agent decades ago. So she knelt, tugged at the small door, and found herself smiling at a couple of anonymous dark gray boxes. She pried one of them open, only for her grin to broaden.

Shotgun shells. Some twenty of them, too.

Screaming-Eagle tucked them into the pockets of her jumpsuit's trousers right away. With those two boxes, and the shells already loaded, she was now in possession of a whopping forty-six shots for her gun. That was much more than she had wished for, and she prayed it would prove to be more than she needed for her... sojourn of unspecified length. Ideally very brief.

Now that the ammo problem was solved, it was time to investigate what secret awaited behind the door at the end of the room. The closer she got to it, though, the more that entrance appeared to be _convex_. Yes, it looked as if a small bomb had exploded on the other side, deforming the door with its strength. The cracks on the doorframe and walls confirmed that something had indeed happened. That... couldn't possibly mean anything good. She steeled herself for whatever may lay in wait for her, pulled the doorknob towards herself...

And found herself staring at an endless pile of rubble as high as her shoulders. She froze on the spot, but luckily no avalanche of plaster, steel and wood crashed down onto her – save for a fucking pebble that just _had_ to land on her big toe. Shaking her foot and growling a curse, she failed to notice anything of interest, save for the complete lack of a roof and a direct peek into the upper floor. It must have collapsed at some point in the past, crushing everything she might have found there. She needlessly closed the door with a resigned sigh. Would have been nice to find a full set of riot armor behind that... yeah, and while she was at it, an antidote to nullify the effects of the Cloud, a map to get back to Vegas, and Elijah blissfully sleeping and holding a teddy bear in one hand, the collar release control in the other. Ah, it had been a forlorn hope in the first place. She couldn't possibly hope to find everything she wanted in one place, it would have been naive at best.

With nothing else left to do, she limited herself to double-checking the lockers on the other side, too. Maybe there was something to be found in there, maybe... she all but punched the wall. No, unlike those in front of the shotgun, _all_ the lockers by the submachine guns had been cracked open. Of course, why would her predecessors bother leaving something for the poor idiots that may come afterwards instead of being greedy fucks and taking everything for themselves? Hmph. So much help it had been, if only four collars were still around.

So she trudged outside, into the hallway and under the mutant's scrutiny. He frowned and chuffed, obviously incapable of deciphering her expression. "I take it you are satisfied with your findings?"

"They'll do." Screaming-Eagle growled back. Maybe she was acting like a spoiled little girl there: she _had _found a whole lot of ammo anyway, it hardly mattered if there wasn't a bulletproof vest among the supplies. She didn't have any reason to be all surly – especially not with the one person (sort of) who had led her to the armory in the first place. On the other hand, the Nightkin and his condescending attitude were excuse enough not to care about that and justify her reply.

"Ungrateful as only a human can be..." He sneered at her. Before she had a chance to completely forget he had been of use and start snarling at the goddamn comparisons he loved to fling around, he faced about, ready to march off again. "Now, unless you want to wait for the residents to find you, I suggest you come with me."

She retained enough dignity not to squeak at the mention of the residents, and grudgingly took place a few paces behind him. She... preferred not to stay too close. There was no harm in keeping her distance from a towering, hulking beast with multiple personalities inside endless cramped corridors and cluttered halls now, was there?

Or ten yards of cramped corridors and no cluttered halls, at any rate. He entered the first unhinged door to his left, and she followed suit into a completely empty room. There was absolutely nothing in there, save for a pile of rubble where the roof had caved in, and an anonymous wooden door by the end of it, surmounted by a sign with two big white words on a green background.

_**SALIDA**_

**EXIT**

Part of her cherished at the sight of the exit. Finally, she could get back out there, find the other two collars with the unwanted-but-needed help of the super mutant, enact the old man's stupid plan, and be _free_. On the other hand, though, she was going back out... into the Cloud. At least the air inside was breathable, it wasn't a constant reminder of the corruption of her magic, there were no swirling crimson clouds, no lightning, only the safety of a fairly unstable roof on her head and cracked walls around her... most important of all, it was empty and-

Somewhere in the depths of the police station, she heard glass shatter.

Okay, she stood corrected: it wasn't empty.

"Well, what are we waiting for, huh?" Screaming-Eagle chuckled nervously as she pushed past the Nightkin, suppressing a shudder. Nope. No running through the hallways while being chased by some faceless abomination again. Nu-huh. The Cloud was good enough, she wasn't gonna complain. Outside meant alleys, alleys meant more maneuverability, more maneuverability meant she had more chances of escape in case her ammo was running low or she had to hide from a crowd of the things. Couldn't have asked for more, no siree. "Let's get to this collar..." She glanced down at her Pip-Boy. "Twelve, shall we?"

She didn't wait for his remarks to open the door. A gust of toxic, bloodred vitriol greeted her, latching at her lungs and nearly making her cough them out. Gods-dammit. She retched... nothing, since she hadn't eaten for fuck knew how long and couldn't be bothered with her hunger or thirst right now, blinked the tears out of her eyes, and took in the indistinguishable mass of contorted little streets and unsafe, crumbling buildings – everything in shades ranging from redwood to oxblood. She kept on seeing the same surroundings over and over again, and she was going to hate her own color at this rate.

The wet thuds of the Nightkin's feet echoed on the tiles outside, always close enough for their owner to grab her by the horns if she did or said something stupid. She could practically feel his teasing glare boring through her neck as he laughed. "You seem quite eager to lose yourself in this maze, Argonian, in this... labyrinth of-"

She stopped him dead in his tracks. She raised her free fist over her shoulder, without even deigning him with one of her glowers, and let out a long, calming breath. "Listen... Not-Dog. I'm asking for one favor of you, just one. Shut the fuck up, at least until we get to Twelve."


	34. Screams to Silence

Screaming-Eagle fumbled to get a good hold of her shotgun, scrambling back into a small fountain. Where was that mutant? Why wasn't he helping her? She couldn't afford to glance around, she couldn't distract herself. Something was coming for her, something black, _fast_. She had no time to aim, she brought her gun to her hip and pulled the trigger.

Her shot hit wide, pulverizing the dusty tiles. The thing crawled closer, thirty feet away from her.

Trying not to hyperventilate, she pumped another shell in – and missed. She nearly tripped over backpedaling, but never tore her wide-open eyes from that beast. Twenty feet.

Another shell pumped in, another one fired; a window shattered.

Twelve.

She loaded the next shell with a loud _clack-clack_ and a choked squeak.

Six.

Her shotgun roared once more. This time, she saw the spray of pellets tear the abomination apart. Tiny black chunks spurted over the walls and on the ground, fetid yellow ichor sprayed onto her jumpsuit, and an ungodly screech filled the air.

She let out a long, shuddering breath and slumped against a nearby wall in relief. Oh, Gods. Oh, thank the Divines she had managed to kill that creature in time... she dreaded to imagine what it could have done to her. She had been told they tended to group together, she'd been lucky to find only one of the monsters. At least it was over now that this... this _horror_ was dead. Oh, by Akatosh and Julianos...

Before she could run a hand through her feathers and smile, a bull's snort to her right snatched her back to reality. "This has got to be a joke... why on earth would you waste four shots on that _thing_?"

"Yeah, well, I didn't really waste them if it's dead!" Screaming-Eagle snapped back at the mutant, who was currently busy staring at her in disbelief. His grimace deepened with her first words. "It... it could've killed us, for all I know! By Arkay, I didn't know these things could get this big. You could fucking thank me at least!"

The Nightkin tried to find an adequate answer; in the end, he only massaged his craggy forehead and groaned. "_Thank _you? Are you out of your mind? You could have saved those bullets for the inhabitants instead of warning the whole of the Villa about our presence, you..." He raised his hand to strike the wall, then slowly took it down to better glare at her. "What happened to your courage, Argonian? You are not afraid of me, not of the inhabitants, not of the Old Man... and yet a _radroach_ manages to frighten you?"

"I, well, it was... sudden..." She mumbled, but gave up on explaining him what she felt and ultimately averted her eyes. At least her scales didn't allow her to flush. "I was caught by surprise..."

She... tried not to look at the dead insect as she lowered her head. Okay, fine, she supposed he _did_ have a point. There were a lot of things much scarier and much more dangerous than a cockroach out there, true. The only substantial difference was that none of them scampered on the ground with all those legs, chittering away as their mandibles clicked together, covered and protected by that viscid, black carapace, fleshy wings a-buzzing, ready to crawl all over her to eat her eyes, to lay their eggs on her, _inside _of her... she squirmed and whined at the thought. Why did insects have to live in the Sierra Madre? Wasn't it a nightmarish enough town without the dog-sized cockroaches and fuck knew what other giant mutated insects skittering around? The super mutant she could tolerate – if barely – and the inhabitants she could fight, but those ungodly abominations...

"Unstable though I may be, at least I am not ridiculous." The super mutant scoffed with a wave of his hand. His hideous grin returned, followed by one of his dark snickers when she glowered at him. "And I must admit, seeing you fight tooth and shell against a mere radroach... amusing. Most amusing indeed. You are proving to be an interesting companion, Argonian... let us hope you can also put your fury to use against _actual_ foes."

"Oh, go fuck yourself." Screaming-Eagle growled. She pushed herself away from the wall and promptly ignored the mutant's barking laughter. Raising her Pip-Boy to check the map, she glanced at it for a few seconds. So, if they were there, then Collar Twelve had to be _there_... straight ahead, second turn to the right, then left again, straight all the way for about... yes, the road wasn't long. She hummed in satisfaction and motioned for her companion to fall in line. "Now come on, we're almost there."

A grunt a few feet behind her back informed her that he had something to say. What a surprise. "You bring yourself to trust one of the Old Man's maps, made for you to follow like a trained rodent in a labyrinth... and yet you refuse to heed my advice? You choose intangible images over memory, knowledge... true experience?" He paused, most likely to shake his head in disappointment. "Why, I thought you were smarter than that. He may be... deceiving you."

"Yeah, too bad it's the same map that brought me to your ugly snout in the first place." She retorted with a grunt of her own, absolutely uncaring of his opinion on the matter. "The only thing he'd do by giving me a fake map would be wasting time, and he doesn't look like he's got much to spare now, does he? Besides, there's two of you in that skull, you aren't exactly the epitome of reliability when it comes to _anything_." She took a moment to appreciate the wonderful silence of his defeat, the sound of grudging acceptance, and chuckled. "Trust me on this, mutant: unfortunately for both of us, the map's accurate."

The Nightkin appeared to argue with himself once more. It was something he did quite often, as she had discovered in that... indefinite amount of time they had spent together. However used to it she may be getting, though, there was always a worrisome question nagging at the back of her mind. If he and Dog supposedly couldn't communicate, seeing how he'd talked of cages and other unsettling things back when he was still in his own cell... then who in Oblivion was he talking to? It must have been himself. Hopefully. There couldn't be a _third_ presence in there, right?

"Your reasoning is sound." He finally answered, sulky as a small child being denied his favorite toy. Divines, she should anger him more often, if it meant he kept to brief sentences. "Let us be quick about finding this Collar."

* * *

Screaming-Eagle sneezed loudly – as if on cue, lightning split the crimson clouds above her. She sniffled with a puzzled blink, raising a brow towards the seething red mass up high and its apparent sense of humor, but she didn't pay it much mind. She was slowly getting used to that infernal smell and the sandpaper in her lungs, to the constant feeling of dryness in her throat. What she hadn't expected was to sneeze as if... as if with a common cold. She'd never sneezed _once_ in her entire life, it was virtually impossible for her to. Not to mention, her race could hardly consider the thought of a place so terrible as to keep her both sick _and_ dry. She was an Argonian, by Peryite , she wasn't supposed to even think about how it would feel like. Just what the _fuck_ was in that bloodred mist capable of making her _sneeze_?

Still, that was a question for later, if she could ever find an answer to it; and her thirst could wait until they were safe. A quick look at her Pip-Boy confirmed that they were close to their target. Very close. A mere block away... not that the whole concept of a 'block' could apply to the twisted maze that was this town, of course.

A small archway up ahead awaited her and her companion, surmounted by a small white emblem, a caduceus staff with intertwined snakes emblazoned on it. The wooden doors that were supposed to separate the hospital complex from the Villa proper had been ripped clean off their hinges. As they moved closer, she saw the holes carved into them. Claws had bitten through the wood and reinforced steel like flesh, the odd knife hilt or ramshackle _spear _sticking out. The residents' handiwork, no doubt.

The mutant chuckled grimly behind her back. "The four shells that went to the radroach might have been of better use against those responsible for this..."

Her knuckles instantly cracked against the shotgun's stock. Gods-dammit. Oh, it was so, _so_ tempting right now to shoot his jaw off and silence him for good... yet she shook her head and set her shoulders. No, they had to cooperate, somehow. He was only waiting to elicit a reaction of any kind from her, she was sure of it, like Naeera. Yes, yes, just like that whore and all those cursed remarks aimed at her. The only thing she would accomplish by snapping angrily at him was to make him laugh. And if she heard only one more second of his overbearing laughter, she was going to seriously consider blowing his brains out. At least she would die happy.

Screaming-Eagle raised her fist, motioning for the Nightkin to follow her and shut up. Gun held at the ready, she walked through the broken gate and into a small corridor. It was a short, cramped space, and beyond another archway up front she saw a large courtyard housing yet _another_ fountain. Divines, why would anyone ever build this many fountains? There had to be one in every yard, and that was without counting the innumerable small ones by the walls she had nearly tripped over so many times on the way there. Okay, this place had been built somewhere dry, but placing so many around was simply-

_Beep._

A gigantic hand grabbed her by her aching shoulder and yanked her back. Stumbling to keep her balance, she turned to snarl at the grayish slab of muscle – and stopped. She saw him scowling and pointing his finger to the archway over her head. What the fuck was he trying to get at? Craning her neck with a hostile hiss, she glared up and...

Oh. Well, okay, in _that_ case, there wasn't much she could do save for bearing the super mutant's chastising snort. A... fairly big writing had been painted in pitch black atop the arch, complete with an arrow on each side to underline its importance. Hard to miss, really.

→ **LISTEN BEFORE YOU LOSE ←  
****A-HEAD**

"Focus on your surroundings, Argonian." The Nightkin admonished her, impassive. "If you do not adapt to the Villa, then you are a dead weight to me, too immersed as you are in the blandest of generalities to see the fundamental details. Until that moment, allow me to take the lead."

Screaming-Eagle's dark red brows knitted together. She gave him a sideways glance, and huffed disbelievingly. "Did you seriously come up with a philosophical way of telling me 'you suck'?"

"Of course she only understands that..." He growled under his breath, shaking his head. "To put it in simpler terms, though... yes, you are as blind as a crippled mole rat and you used four shells on an overgrown insect. Dog and I, on the other hand, were _made _for spec ops tactics and reconnaissance... and while this body is not the ideal form for me to fight in, muscle memory and shared experiences grant me sufficient knowledge of the art of war." He proffered his open hand. "Just give me your weapon, and I will rid ourselves of the obstacle... and do not start arguing like before, I do not intend on wasting any more of my time pursuing pointless discussions. Let me take point... and you have my word I will return your only means of defense to you once that speaker is no more."

She tried in any way to come up with some counter-argument to his reasons, but... well, no matter how she looked at it, he was right. She couldn't hope to hit anything that wasn't chewing her gun's barrel (she had actually aimed for the head of the only resident she had met inside the police station, and she'd hit the leg), she didn't know where to start looking for a loudspeaker of any kind, and most important of all, she didn't have his experience: not with the Villa, not with firearms, not with the speaker system, not with anything that didn't regard Tamriel or magic in general - experience which seemed to be quite useless here. In the end, she shot the most acid glare she could throw at him and dropped the shotgun on his oversized palm.

The mutant tilted his head, and fondly ran a hand over the barrel back and forth, inspecting, almost... _petting_ the thing. A few moments passed before he snapped out of his trance and held the shotgun at ready across his chest, as though it had been his weapon of choice for years and she hadn't barely given it to him. How he managed to insert his forefinger into the trigger guard, she had no idea.

He took off at a trot, his movements brief, quick and efficient... and completely inhuman. There was something odd about his speed, the way his muscles flowed, how his feet made no noise now that he wanted to be silent... not that there were any doubts about his non-human nature anymore, of course. As if the Dunmer-like complexion, the impossible number of scars, and the preternatural strength weren't proof enough of that.

Still, the way his neck snapped around like a bird of prey's took her by surprise (and made her shiver); that movement should have killed anyone. But no, he moved his head further and further over his shoulder, emulating the way her stomach twisted in disgust with each _crack_, his eye darting around until he spotted something. Raising his weapon towards the wall on his right, he pulled the trigger.

Neither the roar nor the recoil seemed to affect him in the slightest, not even the sparks raining onto him from his successful hit. With no other way to make her retch through simple movements of his neck, he then turned his only good eye towards her and beckoned, grinning his faint rictus.

Screaming-Eagle decided it best not to ask any questions and followed him into the walled-off courtyard. Truth be told, driven by practicality though his decision might have been, she couldn't deny she appreciated the gesture. Okay, he was an arrogant asshole, he always poked fun at her, he didn't know when to shut up, he was making her life a living hell more than it already was, and she was sure there were thousands reasons more not to like him... but he'd still volunteered to take the lead, face the possible dangers ahead in spite of everything. If he was better than her and could avoid getting both of them killed, then he was actually doing a good thing and... protecting her? Nah, most likely he had only grown tired of her pussyfooting around. At any rate, he was a great resource to have in that crimson hell. Perhaps she could be a little less resentful towards him...

"As promised." The Nightkin grumbled as he handed the shotgun back to her. "And you would do well to reload your empty gun. Apparently, not only did you waste four shells with the radroach, but you also pumped a round it _twice_ in your panic."

She pried the weapon from his hands with a snort. Fuck it, he went on like that, resentfulness was there to stay. Ammo and taking point or no, he was still annoying as shit, like his grim laughter confirmed. For the love of the Gods, she couldn't even _start_ to like him that he dashed her hopes with one of his jabs. Fuck him, no point in trying to be friends, better get back to the matter at hand and keep detached.

Aside from the doors to what she imagined to be run-down shops, the only visible entrance to the hospital was a wrought-iron gate bringing into yet another courtyard. Problem with that was, half of it had been submerged by plaster and dust, and not even the mutant's strength could break it open this time. Hmm... so she had to take awareness of her surroundings, observe 'the essential details and not the blandest generalities', to use his words. Where to begin, though? The bricks of the walls were cracked, suggesting their great fragility, while some had crumbled so that certain piles of rubble may act as impromptu walkways to the rooftops... yes, that might have been a way around! Or, well, not really: the tiles seemed too unstable to walk on. She didn't want to risk slipping down and breaking her neck now that she was so close to her objective, ending her life with a loud-

_Crash._

Screaming-Eagle very nearly jumped out of her scales at the sudden, deafening noise of splintering wood. She patted down her arms and chest to make sure her grisly thoughts hadn't become a reality, and clenched her jaw tight when she realized just _who_ might have been the cause of that sound. Trying not to vent all of her rage at once, she closed her eyes and sucked in a deep, calming breath through her gritted teeth. "Let me guess, mutant. I didn't focus on my surroundings enough."

"Your guess is correct, Argonian." The super mutant chuckled in reply, occupying a now-empty doorframe and dusting his hands to clear away the splinters. "I see you are starting to learn. Now, if my memory and Dog's instincts serve me right... this should allow us to circumvent our obstacle and reach directly for the hospital."

There wasn't much she could say to that save for shrugging and quietly following his broad, scarred back into what had been a small shop. The back wall may be missing, and the shelves might have been eaten away by rust, but the counter and the cash register were still there. A flight of stairs behind that lead to somewhere she didn't care, probably the late shopkeeper's house.

What she did care about, however, was the large courtyard past the non-existent wall. Aside from the refreshing lack of another of those horrible round fountains, she laid her eyes entirely on the one, continuous building straight across from the old shop. Over three stories high, delimited on each side by archways leading into smaller alleys, with a single row of shattered windows on each floor. It looked... generic to her, almost indistinguishable from the rest of the ancient homes of the Villa weren't it for its sheer size. Another curious thing about it were the twin blue doors at the entrance, which she had half expected to see torn open, as were nearly all the doors around those parts – and not perfectly closed like they were this time. The lights coming from the windows, on the other hand, were something she did _not _wish to see up close. They weren't white and still, as normal neon lights or lightbulbs would have been, but an eerie blue, slowly moving from window to window, like hesitant wisps hovering by the mother that had summoned them.

This must have been the hospital, the place her Pip-Boy had wanted her to reach to find this Collar Twelve. She quelled any and all expectations she may have had about this new companion, positive and negative, in order to avoid general disappointments like the mutant from happening again. It was better if she simply imagined to find another talkative, self-righteous, horrendous bastard instead of fantasizing on improbable encounters with a possible friend. Couldn't get much worse than that ugly gray thing she'd found now, could it?

Braced as she was for the mutant to kick the entrance down, she couldn't suppress a surprised coo when he stepped aside and motioned for her to open it. Instinctively shooting him a suspicious scowl, she nonetheless took hold of the panic bar and pushed it forwards. The door creaked horrifically on its ancient hinges, but at least it didn't fall on the ground or, worse yet, on her. That was something.

The room beyond was an average entry hall for a hospital, if maybe a tad small and, weird thing to say, _tidy_. True, dust and traces of the Cloud clung to pretty much every single item of furniture and surface, forming a patina of reddish grime easily one inch thick, yet everything was neatly (more or less) in place. None of the chairs or benches had been moved, the old terminals were still humming along on the large wooden counter – even the consumed magazines lay on the now-opaque glass tables as in many other Pre-War waiting rooms. The white-yellowish neon stripes in there functioned by some miracle, shedding their light on the dreadfully filthy, but at the same time ordered, hall. It felt surreal, almost as if none of those savages had entered ever since the bombs fell. The moment she set her foot inside, the difference in the air was clear. She drew in a deep lungful and exhaled, almost smiling.

Only a faint noise broke the silence; indistinct, arrhythmic thuds coming from the bowels of the structure. Perhaps _one_ of the savages had found its way inside.

"This is a good sign." The super mutant grumbled, probably coming to the same conclusion as her – albeit with much more self-satisfaction. "This order... it means the inhabitants consider the hospital a... hallowed ground. There must still be holograms inside."

_Thud-thud._

Screaming-Eagle nodded absentmindedly as she went for the only hallway she could see. She took a grand total of five steps forwards before she actually paid attention to what he had said, frowned deeply, and scowled at him. Okay, that was _not _the same conclusion as hers. "What... what does that even _mean_?"

_Thud. Thud._

"Are you telling me the Old Man did not bother explaining their behavior to you?" He asked her, genuinely impressed. He raised his only good brow when she shook her head. "Why, he used to like the sound of his damned voice so much... he must be getting restless to breach the Sierra Madre." He waved his hand, almost as if to shoo away his own ramblings. "At any rate, these creatures... they are elder, and little of them is known besides their ferocity, resilience and relentlessness. There is something curious about them, however. All those I have seen, and all those Dog has feasted upon, they... _revere _the holograms, for lack of a better word. Worship them. If you have awoken in the Old Man's favorite spot, then you may have noticed how there were no inhabitants there." For the first time in those... she presumed hours in which they had forcibly co-existed, he gave her a smile that wasn't patronizing. "It is because of that lady, of her... phantom. It keeps them at bay. They honor the holograms scattered around the Villa like the spirits of the dead."

_Thud-thud-thud. Thud-thud._

"Oh." She managed to whisper. Well, she had to admit that was extremely convenient, but _gods-damn _if it wasn't creepy as fuck. Those things were at least ten times less dangerous if she imagined them to be some sort of mindless undead creatures, not beings capable of understanding concepts such as worship... or perhaps more advanced, rational ideas they may employ during their hunts or, Gods forbid, use to run a form of tribal _society_. The very thought was more than enough to make a tingle of apprehension run down her spine. "Oh, that's... interesting."

_Thud._

And if that place was empty, what in the name of all the Divines was making that fucking noise?

She didn't bother asking if he heard that too, his guess was as good as hers anyway. She took the lead this time around, heading into the only corridor to her right, no door barring their way. Most of the ones on both sides were slightly ajar and, more unusual yet, none of the doorframes had collapsed. She took advantage of the moment of peace to grab one of the boxes from her pocket, pick a handful of shells (these ones were olive tan instead of red), and start shoving them into her shotgun. Once she had loaded eight of them, she put the box back in her pocket, and pumped the first shell into the receiver.

_Clack-clack._

_Thud-thud._

That constant hammering was bound to get on her nerves, and fast. It sounded like it came from somewhere upstairs... and as for the stairs themselves, she saw them right at the end of the hallway. It made sense for someone to hide on high ground: if what the mutant had said was true and there were indeed more holograms in there, and the local demons didn't dare get too close, it sounded like the perfect hiding spot for just about anyone.

She had half expected to crunch some glass underfoot with her first step on the stairs, if only to break the silence, but... nothing. It was clean, for what the word 'clean' was worth in there anyway. No debris, no glass shards, no papers had been left on the steps.

_Thud. Thud-thud. Thud._

When she reached the top of the stairs, she brought her shotgun to bear and aimed down the corridor. It was almost entirely empty, old locked doors on either side, with only one or two stretchers abandoned right in the middle, and a strange blue light mounted on a wall towards the end of the hallway. Everything was silent except for the relentless pounding. She didn't like the quiet, it was... unnerving, like outside – with the exception that here, without the residents, she didn't know what to expect.

_Thump. Thump._

She slowed to a halt, puzzled. That wasn't the same sound she'd heard before, this one... it was metallic, heavy, coordinated; pretty much the exact opposite of the pounding still going on somewhere on this floor. It had the same cadence of a march, but it was hard to tell with the reverb. The heavy stomps reverberated oddly, almost as if disturbed by... static.

_Thump. Thump. Thump._

With each sound, she noticed a faint blue gleam draw closer and closer to their corridor, coming in from one of the side doors far to the back. It had to be one of those things she had noticed back from the outside, the wisps... could it be one of the holograms?

The super mutant pushed her aside, very nearly making her lose her balance, and kicked down the nearest door in great haste. He then grabbed her by the wrist and dragged her inside without so much as a simple explanation or an apology.

_Thump. Thump. Thump._

Incapable of standing upright after being pushed around like a doll, she fell flat on her ass with a pained grunt. She helped herself to her feet with her shotgun, bared her fangs, and slapped his forearm indignantly. "What the fuck do you think you're doing, mutant?!"

"Yes, I was expecting no less gratitude from you, Argonian." The Nightkin chuffed back sardonically. Even though she couldn't properly see it, she could just _hear_ the sneer in his voice. "Allow me to explain, then you may decide how to feel about my actions. These holograms, they... _protect_ their assigned location, act as a security detail. We can do them no harm, but if they were to catch us... they would destroy us. Annihilate us. We were about to run into one of them."

_Thump. Thump._

"Oh, that's just fucking great!" Screaming-Eagle hissed, lowering her tone enough for her voice not to reach outside of the room. "When were you going to mention _that_?"

"Stop complaining about everything and listen to me for once, Argonian!" He bellowed, effectively shutting her up. She brought her gun closer to her chest and swallowed, caught by surprise by the sudden violence and hatred in his tone. "The only thing we can do now is go around the guardian... and since that cannot be accomplished in such narrow corridors, we have no choice left but to destroy its emitter."

Enjoyable though these arguments might have been up until that point, she did not want to stay stubborn and be on the receiving end of a seven-foot-tall beast's rage in an enclosed space. So she swallowed down all the pride that might have gotten in the way of cooperation, and nodded faintly. Its emitter... how did a hologram's emitter look like, though? She'd never seen one in her entire life. Was it something like a... like a box, like the projector back at the Old Man's fountain, or did it have some more peculiar form? Was it built into the ceiling or floor? Or maybe... "Wait, do you think it's the blue light by the end of the hallway?"

_Thump. Thump. Thump._

The mutant stopped for a moment. She heard and felt his loud breath, as hot as that of a werewolf in front of his prey. Worst of all, she _smelled_ it, something she wouldn't have wished upon her worst enemies, not even Naeera. Then, he chuckled in that proud, self-accomplished way of his. "Yes... yes, exactly."

_Thump. Thump. Thump._

She didn't need to ask anything else about it: she had spotted it, and now she knew it had to be destroyed. Okay, this was going to be really, really hard to do of her own volition... but it was either that, or they remained stuck inside of that room and left Collar Twelve to rot there. This was... for the greater good.

She thrust her armed hand in front of her and presented him the shotgun.

_Thump. Thump._

"Ah, is that so?" He laughed at her. In the scarce light, she clearly saw him fold his arms across his chest and cock his head to one side. "Are you incapable of hitting a target fixed on a wall, Argonian? Are you admitting your inutility... choosing the easy way to deal with even the most trivial of problems?"

Screaming-Eagle was about to bluster back at him, verbally lash at his throat, but caught herself just in time. No, that would have been the same as giving up, as telling him that he'd won – and confirming that self-important bastard's assumptions and hearing him gloat at every opportunity was the last thing she wanted. He didn't want to do it? Fine, she was going to prove him she wasn't useless. He was right, she _wasn't_ going to rely on him for everything. Fuck him.

_Thump. Thump. Thump._

She squared her shoulders, blew the most sonorous snort she could in his direction, and stormed outside, into the hallway.

Instead of the usual empty corridor, though, she saw a shimmering blue figure stand not too far from the emitter. He... _it_ was dressed in a masked riot helmet, a bulletproof vest, shin guards and vambraces, carrying what appeared to be an unfamiliar model of laser rifle. All of its form was see-through, and yet... dense, the space behind it distorted and tinged the same blue as its body.

Most important of all, it was staring right at her.

She raised her shotgun at the same moment it turned to a strong canary yellow, letting out a low-pitched, buzzing noise like an active generator. Okay, okay, she had to focus now... focus, look down the sights until the front thingy stood in the middle of the rear whatsit, empty her lungs, squeeze the trigger...

And graze the fucking thing, bruising her right shoulder in the process. The hologram flickered badly for a second, turned to cobalt, but then went back to yellow in an instant. Gods-fucking-dammit, her shitty-ass gun sprayed a billion fucking pellets everywhere! How in the name of fuck could she fucking hit something if the fucking thing always missed every gods-damned-

No, no, _no_, she was never going to hit anything if she didn't focus on her target! She had to keep her cool if she wanted to hit it, no matter that the buzzing had increased in volume and pitch and the bright orange hologram was aiming straight at her. The forestock clacked loudly when she loaded the next shell, but she didn't pay it any mind. Sure, it wasn't like that thing was going to pulverize her in the blink of an eye, she had to stay calm and try to hit a dish-sized thing on a wall twenty yards away.

That mutant had done the same thing with the speaker, though, and it had come _easy_ to him. Did she really want to die knowing that the mutant had done better than her, confirming her uselessness? Proving him right?

The hologram turned scarlet. A blinding lance began to form at the tip of its rifle.

Fuck _no_ she didn't.

She glared at her target, and pulled the trigger once more. She ignored the mule's kickback of her weapon, its raging roar, the flaring ache in her shoulder, everything. All of her senses were pointed at the insignificant blue dish on the wall.

A plume of dust, sputtering sparks and smoke rewarded her. The hologram trembled back to blue, then red once more, and winked out of existence without so much as a sound. The electrical noise faded away into nothingness.

"That's right, fuck you!" Screaming-Eagle whooped as she pumped another shell ready, grinning horn to horn. She'd done it – and in just two shots! Yeah, served that evanescent motherfucker right for getting in her way. She was learning to master that bitch of a gun like a motherfucking soldier, nothing could get in her way now. "I'm ready for round two, you-"

"Do not get too cocky, Argonian." The Nightkin sighed behind her back, gently brushing past her and putting an end to her five seconds of glory. "It will only lead to your death."

She growled at his monumental shoulders, but fell in line nonetheless. Asshole. Although, she supposed she ought to be grateful to the big gray fucker for being so much of a pain in the ass, at least he'd made her take matters back in her hands and clear the way. True, he had the most annoying way possible of doing so, yet... she couldn't deny he'd been a pretty good motivator. Well, he had mostly ribbed and goaded her into action, possibly without any second ends save for provoking her and getting her angry, but still. Of course, she was never going to tell him _anything_ like that. Didn't deserve one bit of recognition with that attitude.

_Thud-thud-thud-thud-thud. Thud-thud-thud._

"Is it just me, or does it sound more... frantic?" She dared to ask. It definitely sounded so: after she'd opened fire, and after they had started walking through the hallway again, she thought the hammering might have been getting stronger, louder, faster.

"Absolutely." He replied with a casual shrug. "I figure our future companion is desperate for help."

_Thud-thud-thud. Thud-thud. Thud-Thud-Thud-Thud._

Screaming-Eagle grunted in reply. "Yeah, you're proba- wait, _what_?!"

"Oh, please, what did you expect that sound to be?" The super mutant retorted with a glance over his shoulder. "Someone must be trapped inside one of these rooms, and it makes perfect sense for that someone to be this... Collar Twelve we are looking for."

_Thud-thud-thud-thud-thud-thud. Thud-thud._

"Then we've got to do something!" She shouted in a mixture of rage and fear, tearing her eyes from the mutant at last to take in the whole hallway. Oh, Gods, where was she supposed to look for the new guy? All the doors were perfectly identical, there had to be dozens on this floor alone, and the noise echoed poorly in there... Divines, how long had he or she been trapped in there? Fuck, what if this collar here was badly wounded, or... Gods. Oh no, he... he could have been _dying_, dragging them all to Oblivion with him! "We have to-"

_Clang._

The sound stopped at once.

She turned around to see the Nightkin standing by a now-clear doorframe, his whole frame awash with a faint green light coming from the inside, perfectly highlighting his unconcerned grimace. She hurried over to him, past him, and... halted in her tracks.

The room was empty. Its grime-encrusted walls were bare of any sort of decoration, the once-white floor was clear of any type of furniture, the low ceiling untouched by any light. The only object in the room was a huge metal cylinder bolted to the ground, just as broad as the super mutant, and over a foot taller. There was a door on its steel-gray form, a sliding panel engraved with a winged staff and entwined snakes – like on the district's entrance. By its side was a small console fitted with a tiny white keyboard, the display over it glowing an unhealthy green.

Screaming-Eagle approached the front of the thing, now silent, and knocked on it. Her knuckles made small, shy clangs on the metal. "Hello? Can... can you hear me?"

_Thud-thud._

"Just hang in there, we're... going to get you out, somehow!" She tried to reassure the occupant, who didn't make a noise this time. Facing the mutant, she backed away and nodded towards the machine, daring a faint grin. "Think you can open it?"

He didn't even deign her with an answer, only giving her a comment muttered under his breath and a shake of his head. He marched up to the door and simply flexed his muscles, rotated his shoulders, cracked his neck to ready himself for the task at hand. With blinding speed, he struck. His hands found purchase on the top corner of the machine, his fingers bit into the edge; the metal began to creak, buckle and _bend_ as he growled in effort, and inch by inch he peeled the steel cover off as though it were nothing more than the side of a tin can. With a final pull and a snarl, he tore the door off of its rails and slammed it into the tiled ground, raising a small cloud of dust and ceramic shards.

Screaming-Eagle's jaw all but fell off its hinges. That... by Ysmir and Shor, she hadn't been _serious_. She was... she had intended to work with the attached keyboard for a bit, Veronica had taught her how some terminals worked back home, what to write to perform the most basic functions. She hadn't expected him to really go there and rip the fucking door off like the lid of a rusty lunchbox. This was... what the _fuck_ kind of being was he to do something like that and dust his hands as though nothing had happened?

Before her jawbone could land somewhere by her black boots, though, a small figure stumbled out from the machine, away from the mechanical arms and instruments hanging from the thing's roof. It fell to its knees, then on all fours as if to throw up, shaking with fear and pain, and... well, needless to say, these Collars just kept on surprising her.

It was a fairly short woman who had been trapped inside, dressed in only a bloodstained tank top, cargo pants, and a pair of combat boots. Not a hair grew on her head, the pale scalp marred by linear, surgical scars. When she hauled herself upright after a moment or two, she showed the rest of the vivid scars on her temples, forehead, mouth, throat, all the savage marks linked together like pieces of one gruesome puzzle. An explosive collar half-covered the deep red line of what might have been the most recent addition to her vast collection. None of them appeared to come from combat, nor from other similar wounds, they were far too precise... these were deliberate. Signs of torture, if she were to guess.

When her dark blue eyes met Screaming-Eagle's, she froze on the spot. She scowled hard, grimaced, and opened her mouth to say something, but no sound came out. Suddenly more interested in her lack of voice than in the humanoid reptile standing in front of her, she clasped a hand to her throat and tried again. Nothing. Her eyes widened in alarm. Several emotions chased themselves across her face: pain, fear, anger, anxiety, surprise, more pain, terror.

"Uh... wait, you're mute?" Screaming-Eagle murmured, just as confused as Twelve. Okay, no, seriously, where did the Old Man even _find_ people like these? A heavily scarred mutant, an Argonian Archmage, and now a mute woman about five and a half feet tall that looked like she'd played the guinea pig in one too many experiments and who didn't know she was mute? Were farmers, mercenaries or doctors too regular for this place?

The woman soldiered through her puzzlement and shook her head. She opened her mouth and moved her lips in an attempt at explaining or asking questions – but no sound came out. She bit down on whatever she might have wanted to say and ran a hand over her bald head, chewing on her lower lip in frustration.

"It appears that Auto-Doc has only caused you harm... no doubt the Old Man and Dog have played a part in all this." The Nightkin hummed by the side of the machine (apparently called an 'Auto-Doc'), rubbing at his chin. "Yes... you do seem familiar, little carved doll. Your path has crossed with Dog's. You wandered into the Sierra Madre, lured in by the promises, and now you have been robbed of your freedom, of your will, of your very voice..."

The woman recoiled at the sound and sight of the mutant by taking two steps back, her eyes darting around for any possible exit. Yes, the three of them must have already met. Familiar or no, though, _someone_ clearly had no fucking clue as to how to deal with someone who'd suffered a trauma. Or several ones, in this case.

"Yes, now you can back off and stop being a dick, mutant." Screaming-Eagle snapped at him. She bared her fangs in his direction, much to his amusement, before she cleared her throat and focused back on the woman. "Well... my name's Screaming-Eagle, and far as I'm concerned _he _doesn't have one. Look, I know this whole thing must feel insane to you – trust me, it was insane for me – but you don't have to worry for now. I'm not going to hurt you, and neither will he. He's just... very unpleasant, and clinically insane, but he's with us. We came here to save you."

The woman, hurting and shaken though she looked like, finally seemed to calm down a bit. She slowly took in the Archmage's features, then the super mutant's, and finally glanced back at the tube she'd been trapped in. A shudder ran through her whole body and she instantly averted her eyes, which fell to the wreckage of the door lying on the ground. She raised both of her brows in surprise, before giving them a questioning frown.

"Yes, we got you out of there, and... it's a long story." Screaming-Eagle waved her off with a sigh. "There's this old son of a- this _man_ who's trying to assemble a crew for some sort of heist. Since asking or hiring apparently isn't an option, he... well, far as I get it, he uses some signal to get people to come here." She chuckled, tapping on her collar. "He makes sure nobody gets any funny ideas with these explosive collars, so we've got to do as he says if we want our freedom. I'm wearing one, you're wearing one, he... ate his."

The Nightkin groaned and pressed his palm against his face. "I already told you, it was Dog who ate his own collar, not _me_..."

"Well, you two are in the same fucking body, huh?" Screaming-Eagle snorted towards him, raising a brow in challenge. "That's what matters, far as I'm concerned. You've only got one body, and the collar's in there because one of you couldn't resist-"

_Click. Click-clack._

She turned back to the woman to see her wrap her fingers around her collar's lock, her face twisted in concentration.

"Hey, knock it off!" Screaming-Eagle yelped. She swatted her hand away from the collar, earning a fuming glower. She didn't care one bit if that woman approved or no, so long as they all still had a head to see it and keep on scowling. "Don't mess around with that thing. They're all connected – one of us dies, slips out of his or her own, disobeys the man running the show?" She ran her thumb over her throat. "They go off."

Now _that_ seemed to get through to the woman. She slowly began to nod in understanding, her hands never leaving the collar on her neck, her shoulders slumping. Then, she looked back up at her and the super mutant, and narrowed her eyes suspiciously.

"Oh, for fuck's sake, why would we want to hurt you if we got you out of there in the first place?" Screaming-Eagle chuffed out in annoyance. If this one was just half as stubborn as the mutant, then Gods help her... "We've got to work together. The Old Man doesn't give a shit who you are or why you're here, he just wants us to make him break into the casino, or blow our heads up if we don't act like his dogs and do as he says."

"Which, vexing though it may be, might reveal itself to be the greatest opportunity to strike at the Old Man." The Nightkin added. His rictus grin broadened at his own words, as he reached out to an imaginary throat with both of his hands and twisted. "Alternatively, I hear it opens up the doors to a... treasure of sorts, if that is what interests you. I figure either revenge or the promise of riches will spur you into joining our endeavor... after all, you are still human, are you not?"

The woman brought a hand to her mouth, thoughtful. She stared intently at the two of them, scrutinizing Divines knew what details about each of them. The gears spinning in her head were all but audible in the silence of the hospital. She'd better be quick about it, and she'd better agree, or Screaming-Eagle was going to have another big fucking problem on her hands – and she suspected that in case of a no, losing her patience and starting to scream wasn't going to do anything other than frighten her. Despite the damage her body had endured, her mind seemed to be whole.

When her eyes hardened and her hand fell to her side, she looked ready to communicate her decision. She stared into Screaming-Eagle's ruby red eyes, and gave her a single, decisive nod.

Screaming-Eagle smiled fiercely. Unlike the mutant, she was already starting to like this one.


	35. Melodious Screams

Screaming-Eagle stared at the harrowing display before her in a mixture of disbelief and nausea. Mostly nausea. The stench of rotten flesh, sulfur and moldy cheese pierced through the Cloud's sensory curtain with ease. She tried to swallow the feeling down, but she only managed to get more dust and grit to claw at her sore, dry throat. She tore her stinging eyes away from the wall and turned to her two companions. Twelve wasn't quite as distressed as her, yet the unease was plain to see in her blue eyes. The mutant, well...

"Hah, I must laud the creativity of whoever came up with this... _warning_." He applauded, the rictus grin twitching up at the undefined corners of his mouth. "Why, it is perfect to keep any visitor away... as for the inhabitants, though, I doubt it would ever work." He rubbed a curious hand on his square jaw. "But yes, these are clearly the signs of a survivor. We are following the right trail, Argonian."

"Yeah, no shit..." Screaming-Eagle wheezed, trying to breathe through her mouth as much as she could. Shit, she could almost _taste_ the smell this way... gah. She avoided taking in a deep breath and shot a questioning glance at Twelve. "You're the one who's still sane, what do you make of this?"

The scarred woman shrugged, a sickened little motion of her bare shoulders. She made a sour face, wrinkling the tip of her nose and grimacing, and jabbed a thumb in the direction of the super mutant with a single nod.

Screaming-Eagle grunted. Just as she'd figured, this was indeed the right way. Now she had to walk past that wall if she wanted to reach the last collar... okay, it wasn't all _that_ terrible. Their first encounter with the Fiends had been much, much worse. Mainly because the ones Eyes-Of-Silver had split open like ripe melons had been regular humans, with warm, wet, red blood and entrails. This thing wasn't wet, nor warm, and most important of all, it wasn't human. Or, well, it hadn't been for a very long time. She closed her eyes to muster all of her strength, held her breath, and faced it.

A pair of rusty nails stared back at her, lodged into the dead green of the gas mask's lenses. Three more had been driven through the local's air filter, and then... then there was about a foot of flaxen-stained space between the head and the torso, affixed to the wall with countless more nails. Another foot separated the main body from the arms and legs, nailed by the joints and still covered in the dark brown tatters of the hazmat suit. Its blood had marred the old, dusty bricks with ramified yellowish streaks down to the ground, where a small pool had formed and dried days, months, maybe years ago. Barely legible under the fetid ichor, a black writing had been scrawled between the thing's legs.

**SOD OFF YOU WANKERS  
****OR YOU END UP LIKE THIS BLOKE**

If only she could do like this guy suggested and just sod off back home... at least they had water back in the Mojave. Unfortunately, she had to find this Collar Fourteen now – and she just _knew_ it had to be the very same sterling example of a human being responsible for this fucking mess. She hadn't already thrown up only because she didn't have much fluid left in her, and what little she had was too precious to let out. She was so fucking tired, she just wanted to have a chat with this psychopath, convince him or her to join the Old Man's little venture, get something to drink and call it a day. The sooner she got there, the better.

There was no time to feel sick at the moment. She squared her shoulders, tightened her grip on her shotgun, and soldiered on past the nauseating sight. This fucking place wasn't going to win. She pushed open the gate to what her Pip-Boy identified as the residential district, ignoring the feeling of her scales threatening to fall off. Beyond it, the same alley she had seen a thousand times awaited her, with all those dry fountains where she had hoped to find water and had only seen coins. She couldn't down coins like pints of cold, sweet mead, she... wait, was this place the same as before? No, right, there had been no dismembered corpse on display like a gods-damned tapestry around the rest of the Villa.

Under normal conditions, her migraine would have bothered her to no end. This, however, was as far from normal conditions as it could possibly get. She was going to care about it once the whole ordeal was over. She brought up her left forearm, once more greeted with a thousand twisting and overlapping green lines, and attempted to carefully plan a route towards the mark that indicated Collar Fourteen. Needless to say, not one of the paths was even remotely distinguishable from the hundreds more in the cursed maze that was this town. Screw it, she was better off following a roughly straight line and checking the map every once in a while, no point in getting an even more piercing headache by looking into that tangled chaos any longer.

* * *

So they walked, and walked, and _walked_. Nothing ever seemed to change, no matter the turns to the right and left they took, the dozens and dozens of yards they covered, the countless scarlet lightning strikes she'd given up on relying on for a vague measure of time. It had already been... how many hours since she had awoken? Four? Five? It somehow felt like it had been _more_. There was no real way to be sure. Divines willing, this nightmare would be over soon. She would finally get something to knock back, some water, whiskey, Nuka Cola, _anything_, and everything would finally go-

_Boom._

"What was that?" Screaming-Eagle hissed, halting dead in her tracks, looking up to the skies at the sudden noise. The echoes of the explosion still rang through the alleys, too strong and close for it to be simple lightning. "A bomb?"

"Fragmentation landmine, nearby." The super mutant corrected her with that unsettling grin of his. "One of the inhabitants has certainly... made a misstep, blundered right into a trap. They are not known to be particularly observant."

Her shoulders sagged ever-so-slightly. It was only a landmine, thank the Divines. That meant whoever was hiding around there had been smart enough to set traps and ensure his or her safety. Perhaps he or she was also hiding on high ground, surrounded by defenses of all kinds and waddling in who knew how many piles and crates of supplies, food, water... _water_, yes. That was a comforting thought.

Much less comforting was the fearsome growl coming from one of the buildings ahead.

Screaming-Eagle raised her shotgun at once, pulling up the barrel until pair of neon green lenses glared back at her from behind her sights, shining through a broken window frame on the second floor. The local clumsily vaulted over the edge and tumbled outside, slamming into the ground with a blood-curdling _crunch_ of shattered bones and rent flesh. Her arms and weapon fell down her sides, while both of her brows shot up. Oh, so... that was it? They were _that_ stupid? Huh. That certainly made her work there much easier...

Before she could officially dismiss it as dead, the thing's neck cracked loudly, and the crumpled heap of a body turned its head to look straight at her. She recoiled in shock, chilled to the marrow by the sight. The fuck? Was _that_ what the old man had meant when he'd told her to dismember or disintegrate them? By the darkest pits of Oblivion, not even a draugr was so... for fuck's sake, at least an undead had the decency to stay dead and not get back up!She blinked her eyes incredulously, and stepped back once, twice, bumping into the super mutant.

"Do not _touch_ me, Argonian." He snorted, shoving her away without hesitation. As he dusted the part of his abdomen she'd collided with, the creature held itself upright on its arms. Mere seconds later it was on its hands and knees, ready to stand up again. "By the way, if you were wondering, that is what happens when you do not properly... _dispose_ of the inhabitants." When the creature was back on its feet, he barked a sinister laugh. "You would do well to finish the job."

"On that, we can agree." Screaming-Eagle muttered, aiming down her iron sights at the undying abomination. There it was, fucking good as new, shambling towards her in that mechanical and disquieting way common to its kind, identical to an ancient corpse revived by a shoddy necromancer. It was taller than her, like the one she'd had the misfortune to run into by the police station; it bore a bear trap on its right hand and wore no hood, too. It was also standing between her and her objective and, by proxy, between her and a _drink_.

A Dragon's roar and a mule's kick later, the local fell flat on its back, its chest reduced to a pulsing, mauled, piss-yellow, damp mass – and _still_ the motherfucker was trying to get back up. Oh, no, she wasn't going to let that happen. No more delays. She marched up to the writhing creature, jaw clenched in focus as she pumped the next shell ready, and jammed her gun's muzzle into the gas mask's filter.

She pulled the trigger.

Sickly yellow ichor sprayed onto her chest, arms, scales, feathers, horns. The headless body twitched and spasmed, more of the ill-smelling fluid squirted out of what was left of its neck, and it finally _died_. Pumping the shotgun's forestock and wiping a sodden sleeve over her face, she kicked it in the ribs for good measure. It didn't move.

She stared at the growing pool of yellow, warmliquid by her feet, transfixed. It was... something she could get in her mouth, swallow. She tentatively licked the vile blood on her lips, but spat it out almost immediately. Urgh, it didn't have that iron taste of normal blood, this one was a mix of rotten eggs and sulfur, she couldn't swill something that tasted so-

Screaming-Eagle blinked in astonishment at the realization of what she had just done. She rasped in deep lungfuls of caustic air and blew them out, her shoulders going up and down with each breath. How... how had that happened? She'd never been one for physical exertion in the first place, let alone intense fights or brutal executions, for that matter. She glanced down at her hands, at her weapon, at the layer of foul ichor staining them. Akatosh and Kynareth, she'd never done anything like this without the aid of her magic before, and now... now she was starting to get the hang of it. By Arkay, she'd wanted to _quaff_ the blood of that thing so badly! What the fuck was wrong with her?

Divines, was it so weird that it felt so... _good_? Getting up close and personal with her foe, looking it right in the eye (or, well, lens) while she killed it, getting drenched in blood, being forced to coexist with someone she hated with a passion without being able to tear his head off out of annoyance, testing the true limits of her body and her patience... this was something new, something she had never felt before in her life. Sure, on one hand, it was a waking nightmare, but on the other...

Wait, on the other _what_? Was she really trying to find some redeeming qualities to this place? Oh, Gods, she knew it, she was going insane. Probably from dehydration, or Cloud exposure. Dehydration was the most likely. Fuck, even considering licking that creature's ichor... this place was fucking with her head big time.

All of her considerations and worries evaporated when a large forefinger tapped the middle of her forehead twice. She snapped her jaws at the big gray fucker, causing him to raise his brow and hum sarcastically. "Oh, so you are still with us. You had... frozen on the spot. Crashed, like an old terminal."

"Just go fuck yourself, mutant." Screaming-Eagle seethed, elbowing him away. She caught a glimpse of Twelve shaking with silent laughter, but she ignored her altogether, already setting off to what according to her Pip-Boy was North without ever facing them. "I've got enough problems as it is, I don't need _you_ poking fun at me all the time. Yeah, ha-ha, I get it: you're an asshole, you're sarcastic, you're smart – now shut the fuck up, will you?"

His only reply was a fit of laughter. He was really great at what he did, capable as he was of grinding on her nerves with each fucking noise he made. Fuck him, he wasn't worth the effort, and she didn't want her blood to turn sour by wasting words on him. Whatever she did or said, he just _laughed_. That was all he seemed capable of doing, whatever word she uttered, whatever action she perpetrated, whatever _something _she _anythinged_, it always sounded stupid to him. Hmm... perhaps he could make himself useful. If she didn't kill him, but made a wide enough cut to get to his blood and sip at it, she was going to- no, no, no, she wasn't a vampire, and she wasn't all that desperate. _Maybe._ And that other one... well, okay, she supposed Twelve was decent enough far as people went – but that was only because she was mute. Maybe she was actually telepathic and she was trying to toy around with her mind, worsening her headache or...

Yeah, no, she really _was_ going insane. She was losing her mind, going cuckoo, sightseeing with the Falmer, playing hide and seek with the Dwemer. At least she wasn't seeing things, she supposed. It still felt awful. She didn't want to start talking to herself or get a split personality like the mutant because she was thirsty beyond imagination. She was a master of the arcane arts, she didn't want to lose her repository of knowledge and skills because she couldn't handle the place. Was this what going crazy felt like?

"Well, not really, since what you call 'insanity' might be anything and nothing at the same time, so-"

"Stop reading my fucking mind!" Screaming-Eagle squawked at the super mutant behind her, raking her fingers through her feathers to scoop him out of her brain. "My thoughts are mine, so get out of there already and just shut up!"

The Nightkin frowned at her without a word. Twelve, not far behind him, decided not to close the gap between the two of them for safety. They exchanged a perplexed glance, and frowned back at her as though she were a ghost – and a bad one at that, the kind that was about eight years old and wore an old white bedsheet.

"Wait, what..." She murmured to herself. No, this was... it made no sense. It wasn't the mutant that had talked to her, the voice had been... different. Rasping, malicious, teasing despite the words he had spoken, like a vulture's cry. What the _fuck_? "I... I could've sworn..." She rolled her eyes and slammed her free palm into her snout. She was making stuff up. Not good. "Gods-dammit, I need to get a grip..."

"Interesting." The super mutant said to himself, completely serious. Was he seriously fascinated with that? She was on the verge of the second breakdown in a handful of hours, and all he seemed capable of doing was taking an academical interest in her case like some sort of shrink? "I did not believe anyone could... lose their sanity so quickly. It usually takes weeks. Days for the weakest." He laughed. "But _hours_...?"

Screaming-Eagle suppressed a snarl and dismissed the Nightkin's observations with a flick of her wrist, resuming her march towards what may have been a route to Collar Fourteen. No, she was letting her fear and paranoia control her. This was _not_ the way her rationality worked. All of the stress coming from the environment, the thirst, her companions, thirst, her insecurities and her thirst must have leaked out into those words. Their... vividness meant nothing. Her mind was playing tricks on her, nothing more.

"You sure about that?"

She clenched her fists at her sides. Her mind. Was playing. _Tricks. _On her.

"Yeah, we'll just roll with that, I guess. I'll try to shut up, but I can't promise anything."

Ugh, she hated her own mind at times. This was so blatantly fake: he said everything she didn't want it to say. Not even a good hallucination.

Now, back to the matter at hand, there was finally a change of scenery: a dead end. She wasn't too sure how they had ended up in there, nor why she hadn't been paying attention to her surroundings, but the walls rising ahead of her and to the sides weren't going to disappear by simply concentrating harder. No doors, only a few broken down balconies, and... hmm, a rusty old fire escape. Yes, the stairs seemed as unsafe as could be, but they led to the rooftops – and she still wasn't insane enough to refuse the chance to reach a vantage point. Or find a cache of supplies and beverages of sorts, for that matter.

Climbing the ladder was no mean feat, especially considering the fact her shotgun had no strap whatsoever and the true hindrance had become clear to her just then, but she managed to get up to the landing eventually. Behind her came Twelve, a thousand times more nimble than she could ever dream to be, and...

The whole staircase shook.

She'd been ready to jump into the nearest window in case everything fell down, when the super mutant's ugly face emerged from beyond the railings... which he bent by hauling himself upwards. The ladder crashed to the ground with a loud _clang_, so there went any possible retreat, unless she wanted to make a jump ten feet into the alley and annihilate her ankles in the process. Maybe she should have considered his sheer body mass before taking this route... well, it wasn't like they could go back now; besides, there wasn't any water back there, no point in turning tail.

Regular stairs she could dig just fine, although she didn't like the way the steps creaked under her feet or Twelve's – and she was absolutely terrified of how whole flights squealed with effort under the mutant's weight. Rising up to the building's flat rooftop, she looked down below, expecting to find a courtyard or, at the very least, to get a better sense of the twisty streets of the place.

What she got instead was a good glimpse of most of the other crumbling homes' roofs and half of their last floors. The alleys below were covered in a thick, choking fog the color of coagulated blood. Unlike the clouds above, though, it barely moved or rose, still as a swamp's waters... and if the loud, heavy breathing echoing down there was any indicator, it wasn't hard to imagine what kind of dangers lurked beneath the surface.

She tried to approach the problem rationally, instead of finally giving in to her anger and headbutting every single tile she could find out of frustration. Okay, if that was some... well, a whole lot of concentrated Cloud down there, like the old man had said, then there was no way in Oblivion they were going to be able to cross the streets and live to tell the tale. Yet _someone_ had evidently managed to make this hell their home, so if it wasn't the alleys he or she had used, it definitely had to be some other path. Either a network of tunnels down below the city, highly unlikely if that mist tended to keep down, heavy as it seemed, or...

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a broad wooden plank connecting two rooftops. Focusing on it at once, she saw an end lay on the building they currently stood on. Walkways, of course! How hadn't she thought about that? Bah, whatever, she eagerly made to step forwards, and-

An enormous gray hand clasped itself to her shoulder. She didn't need to turn around to see the Nightkin's forbearing face; it was perfectly expressed in the long, resigned sigh he blew out. "Amusing though it may be to have you finally _learn_ what it means to be careful, I cannot bear the thought of you turning into a complete dead weight because you had to... charge ahead without a second thought, keep on being reckless, only to step right into a bear trap."

Screaming-Eagle glanced at her black-yellowish boot, hovering right above the rusty, gaping maws of an old bear trap. She let out a long, sobered breath and slowly but steadily got her foot out of harm's way, swallowing as hard as she could all the while. That was close. New and daring (and hopefully temporary) lifestyle or no, _that_ was too close for comfort, end of story. That trap could have savaged her ankle into a pulp, and there went her newfound joy of finally being able to walk well again. Gone with a spurt of blood and an agonized scream.

She broadly circumvented the obstacle, unable to conceal a shudder once she was past those infernal steel fangs. Lucky for her, that seemed to be the only trap that stood between her and the walkway. And water. There had to be at least a bottle somewhere out there, right?

She rubbed her hands over her aching eyes and shook her head. _Later. _They had to cross that walkway, which was... well, just a piece of rotten wood that must have been there for a long time. It seemed solid, and it was broad enough to accommodate both of her feet at once. Nothing to worry about, really, aside from the mist waiting for her down below. However...

"Hey, Twelve, think you could go first?" Screaming-Eagle asked, still not thoroughly convinced about the whole affair. True, if the woman fell off and died horrifically, then all of them were going to follow right away – but at least it wasn't _her_ who risked slipping first. "I've got poor balance, and... well, I would only slow us down, like _he _said."

Twelve shot her a not-so-disbelieving scowl, but she rolled her eyes and complied nonetheless; the mutant, in the meantime, openly snorted his amusement. The wooden board creaked under the scarred woman's weight, yet it held her without a problem as she lightly walked to the other side. Good, good. Nobody had lost their lives because of a tragic accident, it had only taken a couple of seconds at most, and she finally had her confirmation.

Okay, moment of truth. She handed the shotgun to the mutant, just in case she dropped it into the street below, and put her right foot onto the walkway. When it didn't slide off, she put her other foot onto it and began to make her way forwards, about as fast as a lazy, sunbathing iguana. She wasn't the athletic or danger-loving kind, she didn't want to risk her life for no reason at all if she could take it calmly. One step after the other, a few inches at a time, she was doing it. Twelve was almost within arm's reach, she just needed to extend her hand and-

Slip.

Her fingers only had a split second to claw at the edge of the rooftop. Her heart leapt into her throat, her eyes went wide – but she couldn't see, everything was _red_. She couldn't let go, couldn't even consider it, or she was going to fall down, down, _down_. Her eardrums roared and pounded with the rush of blood.

She couldn't even draw in a deep breath to scream or squeak her fright; pure, condensed poison enveloped her. It burned her eyes, scorched her mouth, seared her lungs, stripped her of even the last, tiniest droplets of water she had left in her. Her scales felt as though they had begun to unravel and fall off. The Cloud stabbed through her jumpsuit, seeped into every square inch of her skin, no matter how stubbornly she held her breath or kicked away to find some purchase with her feet. The wounds on her hand and on the stump of her tail flared back with a vengeance.

A pair of hands wrapped themselves around her aching forearm. She couldn't do anything except hold onto those for dear life. There was nothing else outside of those anchors, _nothing_, they were the only thing standing between herself and Oblivion.

The whole world shook for a moment, the hands' grip loosened. Suddenly, gigantic fingers pulled her up with immense vehemence, enough to maybe rip her arms off – but they got her to safety. In the blink of an eye, she found herself rolling onto cold, hard tiles. She couldn't see much besides dark and amorphous shades of red, couldn't feel much besides relief drowning her horror, couldn't think of anything other than how dry she felt. She was still alive, wasn't she?

Oh, oh Divines, she _was_.

Screaming-Eagle's whole body flopped with a relieved sigh when she reached that conclusion. Akatosh almighty, never again, _never again_. She coughed and coughed, spitting out what little fluid the Cloud hadn't taken away. She hated it, but she had to get that red shit out of her system. Was... was she shaking? She didn't know. She was only glad this was finally over. Worst subjective eternity of her entire life to date.

An immense shadow loomed over her, large enough to fill her entire field of view. A finger the size of a bludgeon pressed against the side of her throat for a moment, eliciting more coughs; it went away in an instant, accompanied by a snort. "Do not look at me like that, little carved doll. She yet lives... and, although in minor part, also thanks to you."

Oh, it was the Nightkin. He... he had saved her life? Well, of course, she didn't exactly know anyone with hands as big as his in that hellhole. How many times had that happened now? Three? Four? Maybe a dozen more, if she counted all the shells she had used up until that moment. She wasn't sure, even her brain felt like it had become dray along with her... everything else. Ugh, no matter how fast she blinked, her eyes still couldn't focus properly on him. Scarlet lightning flashed across her retinas for seconds at a time. _Dammit_. Each breath she took felt like sandpaper, eroding her nostrils, her mouth, her windpipe. No blood came out of her tongue or gums, nothing that could give her the illusion of drinking something she could swallow to protect herself from the toxic air... they had to find her some water.

"The question is... how long shall you reside among the living, Argonian?" He grumbled under his breath, perhaps hoping he couldn't be heard. "I do not intend on dying now because of you. I am so close to revenge, so close to the Old Man's pulsing _neck_..."

Screaming-Eagle tried to tell them both to fuck off, but started coughing once more. Gods-dammit, she needed water, _anything_. Wouldn't get any by staying still, that much was certain... so she lay onto her side, tried to force herself off of the ground with all the strength she had left in her arms despite the dryness. Okay, okay, she could sit up if she tried hard enough. That was a start.

Two hands grabbed her by the armpits and pulled her up. Her feet scrabbled weakly, but she managed to follow the movements of her guide without great difficulty. Everything was a lot easier than it would have otherwise been, seeing how she could lean on... it had to be Twelve standing by her side to keep her upright. Her body still functioned; nowhere near peak condition, but it functioned. Good, at least it hadn't betrayed her yet, unlike her magic... _fuck_, breathing hurt so much.

"I'm not... gah, dying..." She rasped out, wincing at each syllable, a hand clutched to her throat and the other arm wrapped around Twelve's shoulders. By Kynareth... shit, she sounded like a gods-damned chain smoker. She needed something to dull the pain, ease the coughing, quench that mind-numbing thirst. She couldn't even think straight. "I... water... where's water?"

"News flash: doctor says you actually _are_ dying."

"Yes, we appreciate your gratitude, Argonian, it is good to have some recognition every once in a while..." The Nightkin scorned her, his massive arms folded over the 'DOG' scar on his chest. She _could_ see what she was looking at, but details were little more than blurs; most of his smaller scars were invisible on his ashen skin. "Now, back to your question, I fear the answer is _nowhere_. I have never dwelled on the matter, Dog's... hunts have always proven to be enough to sustain me." He shrugged nonchalantly, uncaring of her thirst. Of course, what could the big fucker understand about that? Only thing that mattered to him was killing the old man, or keeping her alive long enough to reach him. "Perhaps the little doll feels like... sharing her knowledge? Does _she _know anything that might be of use?"

The woman beside her remained still for a moment, before she ultimately shook her head. She only felt her hand squeeze her shoulder for support. It was... nice to have someone holding her both physically and mentally, but she had no use for that. Solidarity wasn't very refreshing. At all.

"_Fuck_..." Screaming-Eagle croaked with a grimace. Gods-dammit, gods-dammit, _gods-dammit_! Oh, Gods, she couldn't go on like that for much longer. They had to do something, there _had_ to be some water around there...

"You mentioned the other... what was it, 'Collar' must have had supplies?"

She would have looked around to finally see who had been fraying her nerves all this time, but she had no real strength left for that. Sounded like the same guy as before, that much was certain, yet she didn't think about that too much. Those words... that voice talked of water. That was good enough for her. She wasn't going to question the by-product of her delusions if he was _right_. "Maybe... the Collar?"

The mutant hummed to himself. He caressed his chin, considered her words, and wasted time making her cough like no tomorrow, as though he actually enjoyed seeing her in that state. "Yes, it does make sense. We would... catch the proverbial two birds with one stone this way. Although I am not familiar with this area, I think I know _whom _we may be looking for." He cast a glance in the direction of her left arm. "You still have your map, do you not?"

She gave him the tiniest of nods and shook the Pip-Boy on her forearm. "Yes..."

The Nightkin indelicately grabbed her by the elbow, scowling into the green-and-black of the screen as she grunted her annoyance, losing himself in the tangle of streets, buildings, paths. He blew an unimpressed snort and let go of her. "You have such a detailed map, and yet you almost got us lost... _twice_. You are a mystery to me, Argonian."

Screaming-Eagle refrained from telling him what he was to her. An asshole like him wasn't worth coughing her lungs out over.

* * *

Oh, what a fucking _nightmare_ the trip there had been.

Not only had the oh-so-considerate motherfucker who'd made his or her home in the residential district dotted the place with bear traps, landmines, tripwires, rigged guns, grenade bouquets and even a few good old-fashioned falling rocks, he hadn't even used any sort of food or _water_ as bait. Only broken, headless corpses in gray jumpsuits like hers or the locals' scattered limbs concealing fragmentation mines. No water on the way there, nothing, not even in the buildings they had been forced to traverse. She couldn't take a swig from bricks, metal, explosives or dead bodies.

Of course, what did that idiot do to hide from the fierce and ferocious inhabitants, after having set up such a strong network of defenses? Put up gods-damned bright lights pointing straight in his direction from three or four different walkways. They hung over the courtyard in front of his... _house_, a building differing from all the others for two simple reasons: all the bundles of colorful Christmas lights started there, and there was a huge hole in the wall, glowing a faint yellow. She presumed he kept a pair of lightbulbs in there.

Screaming-Eagle staggered over another wooden plank, through the broken balcony and the apartment below her target on her own, followed suit by Twelve and the mutant. That bastard, if a man or a woman she couldn't care less, would better have a private fucking lake in the middle of the room, or he was going to _pay _for all those endless minutes she had suffered following that huge, deformed, scarred back on the way here. She could hardly even speak, hardly _think_ about anything else other than anger, a pinch of hatred, and dreadful thirst.

"Ha, you tell him, Screaming-Eagle!"

Oh, she fucking _was _going to tell him. That voice had nothing to worry about.

She shambled over the last few steps of the ruined staircase to the last floor, only to find herself into another small apartment. Everything was stained and ruined beyond salvation, the wallpaper and paint cracked, the tables, carpets and furniture dusty and abandoned... save for one spot, where two elegant armchairs lay, a small coffee table the only thing between them, an old chandelier shining its light onto the immaculate spot. Someone sat on the left; an acrid, dry grayish smoke rose, swirled and mixed with the Cloud and the stench of gangrene in the air, creating a hateful mix that just wouldn't let go of her throat. Her first instinct was to hack and cough.

The Collar didn't turn his chair around. A reddish hand emerged from behind the sickly green backrest, a large cigar lit between the thin fingers, the arm it was attached to clad in a black and battered sleeve. There was no water anywhere, gods-dammit, where the _fuck_ was he hiding it?

The occupant of the chair cleared his throat, confirming his identity as a man who... had to be very ill, if his hand was that red and he had an infected wound smelling that bad or something. "Please, have a seat." He spoke in a smooth, silken voice, in an accent quite similar to Eyes-Of-Silver's. The cigar made small movements, almost as though it were the one that did the talking. "Came all this way, least I can do is let you rest your feet for a second..."

There was something about his tone, the softness and kindness he conveyed... yes, he sounded just like Clavicus Vile, Daedric Prince of Trickery and Bargains, about to strike one of his two-faced deals. Same bastard that liked to grant mortals their greatest wishes, but with a disastrous and often fatal catch. Or several of them. She didn't trust him one bit, yet she would kill for a drink right now, and he might have just what she needed... no point in not voicing her concern. "Water."

The hand disappeared behind the backrest again. A few seconds passed, and he deposited a dirty red whiskey bottle onto the coffee table.

Her eyes widened at the sight. Whatever the fuck it was, it was a liquid, something she could guzzle and choke on however much she wanted. Her whole body ached for that. A part of her mind tried to warn her, but her screeched request drowned out everything else. Drink. _Drink. _Her feet brought her forwards of their own volition, towards the armchair.

"You _cannot_ be serious, Argonian." The super mutant spoke up behind her, unconvinced as ever. "This reeks of a trap, it is obvious. Just how... _desperate_ are you?"

"You know, gray asshole's kinda right. You've gotta be _really_ desperate to trust this guy."

Oh, she was desperate enough for anything alright. That man wanted her to sit? Fuck it, she was going to sit and roll like a trained dog if that meant she could keep the bottle. She ignored the Nightkin's warning and the groan that followed, hurried over to the free seat, and crashed down into the hard cushions, dropping her gun to the ground in the process. She grabbed hold of the bottle and brought it to her lips, only to tear the cork away with her teeth and spit it out the hole in the wall.

Screaming-Eagle sucked the contents of that bottle with absolutely no regard for her dignity. That shit she was quaffing tasted of alcohol, poison, potato chips and acid... Divines, right now it had to be the sweetest nectar to have ever graced her tongue, and the solid bits only added to that feeling. She didn't want to take a breath, she held her head back and gulped down every last drop of it in one go. Even after it was empty, she still chewed at the glass for more, licked the neck of the bottle for everything it might be hiding from her. Was it empty? Already? No, no, it couldn't be, it wasn't _fair_... she threw the thing away from her, heard it shatter against the wall, and deflated into the chair. Oh, whatever it was, she had needed it so much. She felt _alive_, as though a fire had been lit inside of her. Her throat didn't itch or burn anymore, she wasn't forced to cough for her every breath, the pain in her limbs receded, hot tears watered her eyes and washed away the grains of sand and dust lodged there. Why, the Cloud seemed much less... _intense_ now.

The man at her side laughed, surely amused by the sight. He could guffaw all he wanted, he'd earned the right to do that by her. By Oblivion, weren't she so exhausted, she'd be laughing too. "Aren't you a curious thing... Christ, the beauty of the Sierra Madre reached out even to a lizard like you, eh? Sure, it can be a bit harsh this time of the year. Little water to go by nowadays, as you must surely know by now." He giggled complacently at his own joke. She heard him take a drag from his cigar, and blow it out with calm. "Bah, maybe you can't even understand me and I've just wasted breath on a dumb thing that can only squeak and grunt its needs, but if you do... mind telling me your name, Lizzy darling?"

Okay, strange shit she had just drunk or no, that didn't give him the right to fuck with her and fling racist slur around. He wasn't her owner now that he had fed her, and she wasn't going to kneel and let him do anything he wanted just because he'd helped her. She wasn't a fucking dog. So she straightened her spine, turned around to look him straight in the eye, and... and...

Let her jaw drop like an idiot.

This guy... gods-damn, no wonder she'd smelled decomposing flesh, he was fucking _undead_. He couldn't be alive, he had no... no skin, no ears, no nose. His facial muscles had been bared to the elements, as had been patches of the underlying skull itself. Little of his lips remained, and yet he still managed to smoke and speak like a normal human being. Thank the Divines his eyes were covered by a pair of sunglasses, she wasn't going to question the utility of those things in the Villa's darkness if they hid murky white cataracts from her sight, or an empty eye socket, or worse. Trying to get her mind off of those unsettling details, she stared down at his clothing, and... well, he seemed to be wearing a tuxedo. Now that was an odd choice. Formal and extremely impractical for anything other than smoking and gambling, but she guessed time had loosened the joints enough for it to be more comfortable, or flexible. Maybe he was just nostalgic and liked to dress up like that to relax.

She still couldn't take her mind off of the exposed flesh on his neck and face, off the bones of his cadaverous, skeletal hands. This was just much too weird for her to even begin to understand. Fine, he'd helped her, but... by Arkay, this guy couldn't be alive, not in the conventional sense of the term.

Then again, she supposed she _was_ a member of a species of anthropomorphic reptiles nobody had ever even heard of on this planet up until a few weeks ago. Perhaps this sort of things was... possible here? Wrong, wrong on so many fucking levels she couldn't even begin to count them, but it might be. The Sierra Madre was an even weirder place than the rest of the wastelands, and if immortal zombies that worshipped holograms and couldn't die unless chopped to pieces were a reality, she wasn't going to question a smoking, suspicious-sounding, tuxedo-wearing undead with a fancy accent.

"Uh..." She mumbled out, unsure how to answer. Then she remembered the fucking question and got her mouth to work. Well, at least her voice wasn't as hoarse as before. "Screaming... my name's Screaming-Eagle."

"Ah, quite the American name you've got, despite coming from... wherever the cock you come from, anyway." The undead chuckled to himself, taking another drag from his cigar. He didn't even turn towards her as he spoke, busy as he was looking at the stormy clouds up above (or at the Christmas lights straight in front of him) as though they were the most beautiful of sunsets. "I'll just keep on calling you Lizzy, name's shorter. Do you mind that?"

Screaming-Eagle's teeth clenched instantly, her feathers bristling furiously. She cracked her neck, glared at him, and began to growl like an animal. "Yes, I _do_ mind that."

"That's just too bad, Lizzy, you'll have to get used to it." He replied with a shrug. Oh, she was starting to hate the fucker with a passion. "By the way, Lizzy, I wouldn't get up or make any sudden motions if I were you, no matter how uncomfortable the chair gets... the cushion's just for show." His voice became louder as he addressed Twelve and the mutant. "And your guard dogs would do well to sit down and shut up, I've got a few surprises for them if they start getting restless, too."

He raised the hand he'd been concealing in his lap, showing the handle of... something. Might have been anything, but what really made the alarm klaxons and sirens blare and wail in her mind was the flashy red button by his thumb. That only meant one thing.

A detonator.

Gods-fucking-dammit.

"Well... now, I don't want to be _that_ kind of guy, but-"

"I told you, Argonian." The super mutant barked. The restrained anger in his voice was all too plain to hear. "I told you, and you just would not _listen_. You could have extorted what you needed out of him, and yet you decided to _heed_ him, a perfect stranger with the most suspicious and less convincing voice possible." He paused, perhaps to find the right words to express his feelings. Went for a classic in the end. "You are an idiot."

"Eh, he's straightforward, but your friend got that right..." The living corpse reflected out loud as he went on. "Yes, might be a bit rude, but that chair you're sitting in?" He sneered, flashing carious yellow-black teeth. "It's got a shaped charge in the seat cushion." He waved the detonator around to stall any reply she might have spat in his face. "I know, I know, it's a tad extreme, like those I've set up in the carpet under your observant friends' feet – but better safe than sorry, eh?" His expression hardened, his tone gained a razor-sharp edge. "Get up without my permission, Lizzy, and I'll blast your arse so far through your head, it'll turn the moon _cherry pie red_. So let's keep it civil and polite, and finish our conversation with no misunderstandings."

"Aren't you a real charmer, _corpse_." Screaming-Eagle hissed, like a rattlesnake whose tail had just been stepped on. If only she could crush that remote and his hand with it... "Go on, I'm all ears. Like I have a fucking choice..."

"Ah, and that's just what I've missed: a rapt audience." The undead snickered, blowing smoke through his torn nostrils. Oh, he was _so _clever with his little gods-damned jokes, and he just had to show it to the rest of the world. "You know, Lizzy, just because I work in entertainment, doesn't mean I'm a _moron_. I heard my necktie beeping, and I know what that means. I'm a part of this... somehow." He finally decided to look at her, hidden though his old eyes may be behind those aviators. "I want out of this contract. And if you put me in it, I'm not going to be too happy, Lizzy. So whatever's going on here, if you, your strongman and the shy one are part of all of this?" He snorted in self-satisfaction, shaking the detonator before her eyes like a baby rattle. "You're all taking orders from _me_."

Screaming-Eagle would have smiled teasingly, made his plan crumble to dust by telling him their collars were linked. It would have been fun to see him realize how much of a fucking idiot he was by threatening to kill her.

That wasn't going to happen.

Her teeth ground noisily with each other, hard enough to draw blood from her gums. Who did that _motherfucker_ think he was, ordering her around? The exact same kind of bastard as the old man, with the one advantage that she could see this one, punch her superiority right into his skull and make him eat those stained mirrored glasses to make him shut up for good. If only she had her magic, she could have flung the remote from his hand, strapped him to his armchair and told him how things really worked around there, who was _in charge_. She glared balefully at the hand clutching the detonator, clawed at the armrest of her chair, her nails biting deep into the stuffing, tearing through the covers as though they were the flesh of his wrist. She gripped, ripped hard enough for her fingers to hurt, until...

Bone snapped.

The undead's hand cracked loudly in the blink of an eye. He screamed in agony and clutched at his broken wrist, letting the detonator harmlessly clatter to the ground by his feet. He took in sharp, pained breaths, staring in shock at the unresponsive fingers of his bent hand.

Screaming-Eagle blinked at the scene, gazed down at her own hands. How the fuck... oh. _Oh!_ That sounded wild and unlikely as fuck, but... she felt nothing, absolutely nothing, how was that possible? Pfft, didn't matter, she'd have the confirmation soon enough, Julianos willing. She hid her smile as the living corpse whimpered, stared into her burning eyes, and frantically fumbled for the detonator with his good hand.

She clenched the air between her fingers, focused on the man's reaching arm, and twisted.

Every bone in the man's carpus broke and shattered at her will. He flailed his useless hand for an instant before the pain overtook him, squealing like a skinned pig at the unnatural angles at which his wrists hung limp. Spikes of bone had torn through the flesh, cutting bloody gashes that went from his palms to his forearms.

Screaming-Eagle arose from her rigged chair with an ecstatic smile – she could have danced right now. Yes, yes, yes! She had no fucking idea how, but she'd done it! Her magic was back! Must have been that thing she'd drunk, not even the most potent of Magicka potions could have done that for her – and counteract the effects of the Cloud, no less! She had used a simple telekinesis spell without even the slightest hint of repercussion... why, she was under the impression that the effect had come out much stronger than she had intended it. She'd only wanted to dislocate his fingers, or break his thumb. Ah, fuck it, she wouldn't have enjoyed it half as much as she was enjoying _this_. She motioned for Twelve and the Nightkin not to interfere as she stood right in front of the rotten, screaming man. "Got anything smart to say now?"

"GODDAMMIT!" He cawed, all pretense of politeness or superiority gone from his voice, replaced with melodious agony. There, she already liked him better. At least he was being sincere now. "What the _fuck_ are you?! Jesus, Mary and Joseph! You... bloody hell! _You stay the fuck away from me, demon!_"

"I am not a demon, and I am not_ Lizzy_." She snarled down on him, careful to bare every single fang in her mouth. "I am Screaming-Eagle, an Argonian of Black Marsh, Dragonborn and Archmage of Winterhold. Yeah, that's right, _Archmage_. Guess how I got that thing out of your hands, you bastard?" She leaned forwards, grabbing his bleeding wrists and pinning his arms onto the armrests. He screamed some more, kicked his legs, but she only had to put more weight on her arms to drive the breath from his lungs. "_Magic._ I'm an honest-to-the-Divines witch for you, and I'm the best fucking one there is. I could skin you alive so slow and so good, you wouldn't even die from bleeding out, you'd die from gods-damn _septicemia _days after I've had my way with you. You made a mistake, you rotting sack of shit." She tilted her head. "Want to know why?"

He tried to open his mouth to do something other than whine. "Wh-why?"

Screaming-Eagle spat in his face, straight into his nasal bone. "You fucked with me, that's why. You threatened to kill me, thought you could get what you wanted with force, tried to order me around like a fucking dog. Doesn't work that way, corpse. The only other fucker who did that still doesn't know what's coming to him when I get out of this collar." Her mouth twisted into a predatory grin. Oh, Gods, she was _loving_ it. "But I'll tell you what's gonna happen. I won't kill you, oh no, our 'neckties' are linked. If I do that, all the collars are gonna blow – I bet _you _didn't even consider that, moron." She shook her head and cleared her throat. "As I was saying: you will _apologize_ to me and my two companions, and after you've done that, then _maybe_ I will heal you. But you'll be following me, heeding my orders, fulfilling my every fucking wish. And you'll be the happiest and most thankful motherfucker to have ever lived while you do that. If you don't?" Her grin vanished with a low growl. "I'm going to break your ankles, rip your tendons, hamstring you, make you nothing more than a broken torso... but I'll keep you alive. I'm going to bend your arms and legs, turn you into a neat little human backpack for the super mutant to carry around wherever you're needed. You'll never die. I will make sure you won't be able to even try to take your miserable life away." She snorted contemptuously... to avoid laughing out loud, if anything. Having this power over someone was exhilarating. She should do that to some Fiends or some legionaries, every once in a while. "Choice's up to you."

"You... you're fucking insane!" The undead cried. He could hardly breathe from the pain, so the volume wasn't high enough to annoy her. "You're a sadistic bloody lizard! I-"

"Answer the question." She muttered, applying more pressure on his wrists and drawing another squeal. "Join me, yes or no."

"For the love of Jesus tap-dancing fucking Christ, _yes_, I'll do any bloody thing you want!" He howled, half-maddened by the pain. Oh, poor little bastard, was a little torture too much for his rotten body to endure? "I'm sorry, _I'm sorry! _Get off of me, please! PLEASE!"

Screaming-Eagle let go of him with a complacent smirk, while he moaned in relieved pain and sagged against his bloodstained armchair. Ah, that was what she liked to hear. Still, she couldn't have someone completely useless follow her around now, could she? Hmm, she supposed he might turn out to be useful, eventually. Blowing a resigned sigh, she closed in on him (ignoring his pathetic bleating) and focused on his excruciating wounds. Spiral, displaced, comminuted and-some-other-complex-medical-word-for-that-fucking-mess fracture, mild hemorrhage, muscles done for, tendons neatly severed... eh, she'd had to heal worse. She wasn't even going to bother with problems such as near-lethal radiation poisoning, or the levels of Cloud and... some sort of disease in his blood. She closed her eyes, directed the flow of her magic into his pain, allowed it to show her everything that needed fixing... and did nothing to ease it. She made him feel every second of his putrid flesh knitting back together, of his bones rearranging themselves, of his nerves and ligaments' ends knotting once more. Didn't sound like he enjoyed it much.

Too bad she couldn't care less.

There, done. She reopened her eyes and was met with a new, sane pair of wrists – new and sane as those skinless things could have been called, anyway. The living corpse, for lack of a better name, stared at his hands in complete and utter shock. He turned them over, ran them over his arms and his bloody tuxedo and armchair, waggled his fingertips and tapped them against each other. "Christ on a bike, this is _impossible_... I must've gone mad..."

Screaming-Eagle grabbed her shotgun, mainly to be sure he couldn't get his newly functioning hands on it while she wasn't looking, and turned back to her two companions. Judging by the looks they gave her, they seemed to have mixed opinions on her actions.

Twelve was absolutely, completely, utterly horrified by what she had just done. The woman shook her head in disbelief, naked brows up high and eyes wide open, her scars worsening her grimace tenfold. This time she had no signs to express what she felt, and limited herself to muttering 'what the fuck' over and over again.

"In my defense, I had a lot of stress to relieve." Screaming-Eagle huffed her way. Before Twelve could give her the middle finger or something equally eloquent, she shoved the shotgun into her hands, and threw in the two boxes of ammo to keep her busy. "Take it. You're unarmed, and I've got a much more efficient weapon than a shotgun to use, don't worry."

Twelve didn't reply. Which was... well, obvious, she was mute. Pointing that out was about as useless as telling her to shut up and- oh, _fuck_, good thing she hadn't actually _said_ that. Might have been really bad to add an insult to the trauma. Well, on the other hand, there was the mutant...

"Bravo!" The Nightkin exclaimed, grinning ear to ear, the effect augmented by his distorted lips. He began to clap slowly, and wiped a theatrical tear out of his good eye. "That was... beautiful, Argonian. Moving. A true work of art – I doubt I would have been able to do better... not even Dog could have." He dropped the act with a fit of roaring laughter, and looked over her shoulder. "Do you not agree, _ghoul_? I have to say, _coward_, I was hoping for her to turn you into a backpack for me to wear..."

Screaming-Eagle laughed in an attempt not to show concern for her mental health. Okay, thinking back with a mostly-clear eye... maybe she'd forced her hand a little too fucking much. It wasn't what she had done that worried her though, it was the fact she had _enjoyed_ every moment of it. Fuck, maybe she really was going insane, if she and the mutant agreed on something so gruesome... Divines, was she really losing it? Well, the voice wasn't there anymore, she guessed. That was... reassuring? She hoped?

"This can't be happening... I used to open in Paris, _Paris!_" The ghoul mumbled behind her, once he had finally decided to overcome his shock and get up on his feet. "Dean Domino, entertainer, singer... I had everything, and now this... this thing, this _witch_ comes over and..."

"Wait, you're Dean Domino?" Screaming-Eagle repeated, not believing her hearing canals. It couldn't be possible. "_That_ Dean Domino?"

The ghoul squeaked in terror at the sound of her voice, before he tried to recompose himself and failed. He raised a brow and attempted a genuine smile. "Y-yes. You... you know me?"

"Can't forget the asshole who only sang awful covers of nineteen-fifties' songs and took all the credit." Screaming-Eagle sneered at him, crashing what little was left of his hopes and dreams. Nah, she wasn't going insane, it just felt good to hate this guy. She couldn't help it. "Of all the people who could have lived two hundred years... bah." She waved him off. "Now get any bottles of that red shit you can find, shut the fuck up and fall in line between the woman and the mutant. I'll take the lead."

She had a crew. Now it was time for that 'heist' the old man had talked about.


	36. Alternatives

Lightning cracked the bloodred sky, thunder rolled across the twisting alleys.

Screaming-Eagle drove the noise from her mind with a harrumph. Loud, disquieting, intimidating, yes, but she didn't give a shit about it at the moment. So far as she was concerned, there were no churning clouds above, no fog-choked streets below – only the walkways and rooftops she had to cross on her way back to the fountain. She had wasted enough time aimlessly wandering around that shithole, no more setbacks now. The crew was gathered, her magic returned, her patience evaporated. The vein by her right horn had been pulsing with raging eagerness ever since she had made Dean Domino cry like a little bitch. How far were they from the fountain? No idea, even the map was too vague in that regard. Why couldn't anyone simply keep close to the place, just to make it all easier? Fuck knew why. Three different zones for three people... fuck's sake, really.

Cloud and strain scorched her every breath, the muscles in her legs burned, spikes stabbed the soles of her feet with each step she took – she didn't care. Rest wasn't an option. She had grown too accustomed to fatigue to heed her nerves. She wanted to be done with the Sierra Madre by the end of the day and by the Gods, she _was_ going to be, end of story. No waiting, no sitting, no napping, no collapsing. Not permitted, not on her watch. She was going to rest either in her grave, or back in the Mojave desert, not _here_. Here she could walk, and run when possible.

Her 'team' was making good speed along the high ways and shortcuts set up by the ghoul in the years past. In but a few minutes they had left his damned home behind, now a tiny cluster of lights on the horizon at their backs that she was too busy to actually look at. She didn't trust him in the slightest – mainly because any attempt to escape would have taken precious seconds to thwart. Yet it wasn't like they could experiment every possible path until they found the right one. So the singer had been allowed to walk in front of her, ready to be pinned down by her magic and brought back to reason by the mute's shotgun and the mutant's bulk. Her eyes never left the tattered tuxedo covering his gangrenous back, not for an instant. They had to get back to that delirious old man as soon as they could, and she wasn't about to let a shitty Pre-War singer delay her any further because he might find an opening to run.

"Wait a minute..." The ghoul asked, drawing to a halt. He quivered with unease. "Did you hear that? I think..."

Of course, now he was having second thoughts... was he really trying to escape them with a stupid trick like that? She grabbed him with her free hand and spun him around, snarling into the frightened mask that was his face and raising her fist, ready to strike. "The only thing I'll hear is the sound of your bones shattering if you don't keep moving!"

She was certain he would have squeaked something in his defense, or mewled an insincere apology, but the guttural growl she received as a reply was much more eloquent than any word he may have spoken.

Screaming-Eagle sucked in a deep breath and let go of Domino's stained gorget. As he fell to the ground and scrambled back behind the other two's bodies for cover (much to the mutant's enjoyment, if his laughter was anything to go by), she rolled her shoulders to loosen the kinks in her neck. She cracked her knuckles and answered with a growl of her own, furious for having an obstacle bar her way, but at the same time glad to have something to tear through. Massacring foes did wonders for stress, so long as she was quick about it.

This particular rooftop was rather large, with plenty of space to outmaneuver the enemy in case the fight proved to be difficult. Hmph, right, _difficult_. Revenge was at hand, she wasn't going to allow one of those Cloud demons to stand in her path.

The local climbed up the opposite edge of the building with ungraceful, erratic movements, hauling itself upwards and rolling to its feet like a toppled cockroach. This one was... a bit different from the others she had met. It was of slighter build, much shorter and scrawnier than her, and its masked head was covered by a dark brown cowl. It held a spear of some kind in its hands, fashioned from a wooden rod and a single kitchen knife clumsily taped to its tip.

The moment it took aim and raised its weapon as though it were a javelin, she reached for the air in front of herself and clawed her fingers, grabbing nothing. She concentrated on its thin arms, on the joints connecting them to the shoulders, and infused her hatred with a measure of willpower and focus. She twisted and pulled as though she were holding them down, then ripped outwards with a grunt of effort.

The thing's arms came free of their sockets, falling down to its sides in a spurt of ochre blood. The spear followed right away, clattering against the hard tiles for a moment, before the torso of its owner thudded against the rooftop's tiles. It didn't even flinch or squirm a little bit on the ground, it merely flopped and died in silence. Too bad, she'd been hoping for something a little more pleasant... like screams and rolling off the roof in agony, its flesh parting as shattered bones carved through it and- okay, that was graphic, focus. No going insane. Not yet.

Well, that had been satisfying nonetheless. She couldn't suppress a manic grin at the thought of having her magic back, at the sight of what her telekinesis could achieve in seconds. Beautiful, _beautiful_. It was one thing to use a crude tool, like a shotgun, to end her foe; it was another thing entirely to tear it to pieces with a single _thought_. No need to waste her time reloading, aiming, pulling the trigger. One gesture to channel her art, and the local's arms had flown right off.

Screaming-Eagle had been ready to chuckle and dust her hands when a chorus of gurgling howls interrupted her. The smirk vanished from her face. Gods-dammit, she wanted to be quick, revel a bit in her newfound power, and _this_ happened. Sure, she had encountered only two of those things before when she had been in absolutely no rush, and now what sounded like a whole fucking pack came a-knocking? On the rooftops, of all places? Ugh, wonderful timing, really.

One by one they emerged from the mist of the streets, ungainly bodies clad in hazmat suits. Some of them carried spears, like the one she had just maimed; other, bulkier ones wore bear traps on their forearms, like the two she had met before. All of them, however, held their glowing green eyes pointed straight at her. A quick glance to her left and right confirmed there were half a dozen of the shambling abominations trying to surround her. Hmm, they had a grasp of tactics, it seemed... commendable, for a bunch of Cloud zombies. Any other time, she may have even been fascinated by this turn of events. Right now, however, they were standing between her and the fountain.

Screaming-Eagle heard Twelve's hands tighten onto her shotgun, bringing it to bear and pumping a shell into the empty receiver. She made her lower her weapon with a scowl over her shoulder. No, these were _hers_. The time they would be saving by attacking simultaneously would be negligible; the amount of satisfaction she would lose if she didn't slaughter them all by herself, considerable. Drawing strength from her fury, burning bright and hot as a star, she extended her left arm and doused the bastards in searing flames.

Whatever material those suits had been made of, it caught fire at once. The stench of roasting flesh was more than enough to overpower the Cloud's sting, a mixture of rotting corpses, diseased fish, and bubbling sewage carried to her nostrils by the yellowish smoke. She had no time to feel nauseated, only to snort her amusement. The creatures began to stumble, their muscles and bones melting and fusing from the heat. Torrid waves of dry air washed over her as each of the locals fell to its knees, then face-first into the roof, the thuds covered by their ungodly screeches and the crackle of the fire. A few seconds later, none of them moved anymore, the flames eagerly licking and consuming their carcasses.

It felt good to have her magic back.

"You are full of surprises, Argonian." The mutant laughed malignantly, his mouth twisted up in a hideous smile as he patted her shoulder and walked past her. Fire glittered in his single tangerine eye, flecks of orange and sparks intermingling over the yellow, thickly veined sclera. "Yes... so many possibilities..."

"Yeah, let me near the old man, I'm going to show you possibilities..." Screaming-Eagle hummed to herself. She turned around, dismissed Twelve's dismay as completely normal at that point, and glared daggers at the huddling form of Dean Domino. "Now back to the front, Domino, double time it!" She barked, and the ghoul stood up at once. He didn't even protest this time. Good, he was learning. "You don't get me to the fountain in the next five minutes, I'm gonna make you wish I'd burned you alive like these sons of bitches! _Move!_"

* * *

One last turn to the right and the ghoul made his final sprint into a broad open space, overlooked by the ominous form of the Sierra Madre's tower perched high upon a black hill. It was visible from all over the Villa, actually, but here the sensation of impending doom was more... intense, somehow. Maybe it was because of the gate. In the middle of the ruined buildings stood a fountain, guarded by the pale blue ghost of a woman in an elegant evening dress. As Domino bent forwards and rested his hands on his knees, gasping for air and nearly coughing out his diseased lungs, and as the others fanned out around her, Screaming-Eagle couldn't help but glance down at her Pip-Boy in curiosity.

Sheogorath take her... he actually _had_ gotten her to the fountain in less than five minutes. Maybe she wasn't going to kill him as viciously as she had originally planned for what he had dared to do, once this was all over. _Maybe._ Unlikely.

"Ah... there you are... Vera..." Dean Domino rasped, sketching out a salute to the hologram. "Long time... no see... all good? Eh... can't complain... 'cept I can... but I won't... red one... will get me... if I do..."

Screaming-Eagle cast a furtive look towards Twelve, who was just as puzzled as her. They both rolled their eyes at the same time. The woman put her forefinger to her temple and twirled it around while mouthing the word 'loopy'. Heh. Couldn't argue with that.

"I take comfort in the fact I am not the only one to be insane, _showman_." The Nightkin jeered at him. "Talking to a guardian and expecting a reply... pathetic."

Domino waved them all off with a grunt. "I was... joking... _Strong Man_..."

Screaming-Eagle let out a long sigh and shrugged, pushing past the exhausted ghoul and eliciting an indignant huff as he fell flat on his ass. She slammed her palm against the rim of the dry pool, and the coins inside trembled with the blow. It also got her hand to hurt terrifically, but she wasn't going to say anything – wouldn't have looked as tough as she wanted to. "Hey, Old Man! I've got your crew, here they are!" She made a broad motion to encompass the band of misfits at her back, then shoved her aching hand between her thighs to stem the pain. Fuck, it hurt. "I've filled my part of the bargain! Now it's your turn."

A second or two passed before the hologram vanished in thin air. Some mechanism inside the fountain itself whirred, and the small pyramid-shaped projector popped out of the pool's side. In the woman's place appeared a wrinkly, scowling face, covered in a wispy beard and surrounded by a mane of ragged, long hair. Now that her mind was clear from the fear that had grasped her the first time, she noticed he bore a striking resemblance to an old, grumpy, malevolent _pug_.

"_You'd do well to show some respect, lizard... remember your life – all of your lives – hang in the balance._" The old man oh-so-kindly reminded her, about as patient and understanding as a Thalmor inquisitor. She hadn't missed his gruff, imposing tone one bit. There was a pause to drive his point across, but then the eagerness took over him. "_But yes, I can see... good, well done. Now for the festivities... and your parts in all this._"

Screaming-Eagle's right eye began to twitch. He had said absolutely nothing about 'parts', or 'festivities', he had just mentioned a heist involving her and the other collars. Come on, the gate with the golden 'Sierra Madre' sign was like twenty yards away! She had assumed they had to open it in some sort of complicated way that required a lot of people since... it was a huge gate? It had a weird lock? Bah, she wasn't a thief, she had no idea how that kind of things worked.

"_The owner of the Sierra Madre... you see, for whatever reason, he keyed the Grand Opening to the Gala Event itself._" The bastard continued, now lost in his own speech like she wasn't even there and she wasn't snorting like a bull about to charge. "_It needs to be fired off in order for the casino doors to open. As I've discovered, one person can't do it alone._"

Her fingers balled into fists, the nails burrowing into her palms. He hadn't said jackshit about any gods-damned Gala Event to be fired off, she was absolutely _gods-damn certain_ of it. Oh, Divines, now he was going to spew out some grand plan of his that required her to trek across the Sierra Madre, right? It fucking sounded so. Hngh, the more he talked, the more she felt like biting his throat off for good. If only he were within her maws' range...

The Pip-Boy on her left forearm beeped the visions and taste of blood away. Her fury held back by curiosity (if only momentarily), she looked down at the screen. It had reverted to a map of the Villa, although now it appeared to be... larger? Yes, it was at least twice as big. The two areas dubbed "Salida del Sol" and "Puesta del Sol" to the Eastern and Western edges hadn't been there the last time.

The four markers sure as fuck hadn't been there, either.

"_So bring your team to the positions indicated on your Pip-Boy, then trigger it properly._" The old man went on, blissfully ignorant of her bared fangs and her bristling feathers. "_You're so close now, don't let me down... otherwise, I'll have to rely on the next team._"

"You could have mentioned it _earlier_." Screaming-Eagle growled through clenched teeth. She rapped her knuckles onto the edge of the fountain, as though it were his open ribcage and she were searching for the most painful way possible to rip out his organs. "You old... hmph." She flicked her wrist, feigning nonchalance. "This Gala, what of it?"

"_It's a display of lights, fireworks, music in the streets... a Pre-War festival to mark the casino's opening._" He explained to her, his voice bitter with disdain at the thought of... happiness, apparently. He only managed to further infuriate her: she _knew_ what a Gala was, by Akatosh. She had simply wanted to know why it was so important, what the mechanism triggered and how it did it, not the fucking _definition _of a Gala. "_It is of no consequence, really, only firing the event is. Get the three in position, then travel to your post in Salida del Sol and trigger the Gala._"

"He's going to... use the Gala Event... to open the casino?" Dean Domino muttered between a rasp and the other, skeptical. "But... that's... hmm, interesting..."

She paid him no mind. In the deadly silence around her, she clearly heard the sound of the proverbial camel's back snapping clean in half.

More.

Gods-damn.

_Trekking._

The old man cleared his throat, oblivious to her heavy breathing and the way her fingers clutched at the fountain's rim. "_After that, the real work begins._"

Screaming-Eagle drew in a deep, calming breath, eyes narrowed to ruby-red slits as she tried to come up with something to say that wouldn't get her killed. "The... real work. Really." She hummed slowly. "Are you telling me what I've been doing up until now was a warm up? Is that what you're insinuating, that getting these three together _wasn't_ real work?"

"_I cannot expect you to understand, perhaps you think this is a simple robbery, a... cheap casino heist._" The _son of a motherfucking whore_ scoffed. She could almost hear his contemptuous superiority through the comm link. It had nothing to do with what she thought of the job, it had been fucking hard, _period_. "_No, lizard... this is a heist of the centuries. We're not plundering the Sierra Madre – we're plundering history, taking from the Old World itself!_" His voice had risen to that megalomaniac dictator note he had been missing up until then. What a surprise. Of course, that probably hit hard on his throat, because he spent the next moments coughing like no tomorrow. In the end, he sniffled, and dismissed the moment with a grunt. "_At any rate, it won't let its secrets go easily, not without a fight... I wouldn't expect anything less._"

Great, now she had the confirmation she needed: she was officially taking orders from a madman. 'We're plundering history'? Seriously? That was the single most delusional and inflated sentence she had ever heard in her entire life – and she had spent the vast majority of that time in _Tamriel_. Come on, there had been villains in the history of Nirn less obsessed and out of their mind than this guy. At least the infamous Mannimarco had had the _means_ to achieve his twisted goals, and his big plans usually involved Molag fucking Bal. He'd had no need to rely on an Argonian, a super mutant, a mute woman and a two-centuries-old ghoul to succeed... unlike _someone else_.

This wasn't the last straw, it was last fucking _hay bale_. Again, the gate was _right there_. Was he honestly suggesting they started fireworks and music to open it, attracting the whole local population of abominable, hazmat-suit-wearing, not-properly-living monsters in the meantime? He couldn't be serious, he had to be joking. How hard could it be to find some explosives and take that gate down, then do the same thing with the casino doors themselves? They could be sturdy and blast-proof all they wanted, but not flat out indestructible. Nothing was. And even if they were, how hard could it be to bring down the walls around them and create an opening? There, done, a million times easier than making a group of randomly picked perfect strangers band together and expecting them to work under mortal threat.

Of course, her plan couldn't work in there. Where were they even going to find demolition charges? They had barely found a couple of boxes of shotgun shells in a _police station_, finding explosives in there was completely impossible. There was no army base nearby, hers were only suppositions at this point. If only they had something as strong as a few bombs...

Screaming-Eagle blinked twice, dumbstruck, and nearly slapped her palm into her face. She didn't need bombs, or demolition charges, much less to go all the way to their 'assigned positions'. Gods-dammit, it was all so..._ obvious_.

"_Are you listening, lizard?_" The old bastard demanded, displeased with her silence. His... well, not really concern, but whatever approximation of the feeling he was trying to convey didn't last long. "_If you are, just remember that the outlying areas of the Villa are far more dangerous, thicker with Ghost People, traps, and toxins. Use your team as I-_"

"How long did it take you to come up with this plan, exactly?" She interrupted him, cocking her head in blatantly fake curiosity. It wasn't like he could decipher her expression, she was pretty sure there were no cameras here anyway. "It's fairly elaborate, I'll give you that. So... how long? A few months? A year? Two? _Several _years?"

He fell silent at the question. His train of thought had been utterly derailed by those simple words. Aside from sporadic coughing, he didn't answer for what might have been a minute. "_... Excuse me?_"

"I said, 'how long did it take you to come up with this plan', should be a simple question for a genius like you." Screaming-Eagle told him again, forcing the compliment out - it worked better if she saw it as an insult. She folded her arms across her chest, and allowed a smirk to surface. "To find the exact locations and spots, the procedures to follow, how it was all linked together, the right number of team members... a long and meticulous work, for sure." She threw in a snicker for added effect. "Not to mention the failed attempts."

"_I... I'm not sure._" The old man finally blurted out. He sounded conflicted: on one hand, he probably didn't want her to mock him; on the other, he finally had someone to belittle and sound like a genius to. "_The Sierra Madre... time is irrelevant here. There is only the wait, the... time to dwell upon the plan, waiting for a new team to enact it after the last one's failure._" He paused for a moment, perhaps realizing he had made his _amazing and infallible _plan sound flawed. "_It would've worked perfectly, if only those idiots had thought of something beside their own greed. So many failures... fools. At any rate, you only need to know it's been a long time, lizard. Why do you ask?_"

"Because it sucks." Screaming-Eagle said plainly. At least now she got to be sincere and count the faults in it with her fingers, like Naeera did. Divines, now she understood why the thief liked it so much: it was just so _gratifying_. "Really, it's awful. You didn't enforce cooperation, you've never looked for alternatives, you gave your subjects no reason to follow it, you never took a moment to ask yourself _why_ you're doing this, you've never asked anyone how to improve it, you-"

"_Enough!_" The bastard roared, followed by a muffled _thud_ and the clatter of metal. Oh, poor little old fucker had gotten his ego bruised and had banged his fist on the table like the whiny baby he was? Too bad. "_One more word, _lizard_, and I'll be sure to ask the next team for improvements!_"

Even though he couldn't see her, she shrugged him off anyway. She couldn't help but laugh out loud at his reaction; the thought of risking her life just to voice empty bravado added to that hilarity. Funny how the brain could work under extreme stress. "No need to do that, I've got a better plan." She lovingly spread her arms, almost inviting that ugly, bearded pug face to hug her. "I came up with it while you were busy monologuing, old man. Five minutes." She held her open hand in front of the huge face, moments away from gloating. "It's gonna take just five minutes. A straight success in five minutes against years of grumbling and failing. How's that for a master plan, huh?"

"_Hmph, I see..._" The old man grunted after a while, unimpressed. He even chuckled. "_You're bluffing. Know it's not going to work, lizard._" She could almost visualize him wave her off as he snorted."_Now, unless you have any more impossible plans or jokes to waste my time, _get moving_. I'll be in touch when you've all reached your positions._"

The huge face winked out, replaced once more by the woman in the evening dress. This time, however, she was facing the gate of the Sierra Madre. Pfft, real subtle hint.

Screaming-Eagle sighed out loud. She had been hoping to leave him speechless, but that was to be expected, really. Anything his 'great mind' hadn't calculated would only be dismissed as bluffing. Divines forbid someone might actually be better than him. Ah, well, that would just make it funnier to look at his surprised face while she ripped his lungs out through his mouth. Oh, that was _nice_! Maybe something about popping his eyes while she was at it, or-

A shotgun roared behind her.

She snapped around at the sound, and the first thing she notice was Dean Domino running up to her like a scared little girl. She shoved him away, raising her eyes just in time to see Twelve pump her weapon ready, the barrel pointed straight at the Nightkin's head. He appeared to be... different. More hunched over, all but aching to crawl on all fours, his twisted expression more feverish than usual.

"What is it now, mutant?" Screaming-Eagle demanded as she marched towards him, ready to punch some sense into him. Of all the moments to act weird... yet he didn't turn, oddly enough. He just kept on staring down the barrel of the woman's gun, and... licking his teeth, _loudly_.

Okay, something was wrong. She filled her lungs to call him once more. "_Mutant!_"

This time around, he heard her. He shot her a piercing glare with his single eye, pupil wide open, full of hatred and... _hunger_. She did a double take when she saw the drool trickling down onto his chin. He tilted his head like a wild beast, and frowned back. "Lizard no master... where master?" He drew one step closer to her, looking left and right. "Master? Dog hungry..."

She raised a brow in puzzlement. This wasn't his usual self. Now that she thought about it, maybe he_ literally _wasn't his usual self. "Wait, so you're... Dog?" She asked, only to let out a groan and massage her temple, squeezing her eyes shut to at least delay the incoming headache. "Oh, come on, how the fuck did this even _happen_?"

"Dog hear master, Dog come out." The... _other_ super mutant burbled out, confirming her suspicion. Well, this one was pretty straightforward, at the very least. Before she could ask him anything else – like how the transition worked, or if he minded her taking the other one back – his eye hardened, his lips twisted into a snarl. "Dog know you... you keep Dog in cage, you work with voice!" He hefted his fist and bellowed his wrath. "Now you die!"

Screaming-Eagle trivially closed her right hand and blocked his fist in mid-air, paralyzing and locking his entire arm. Okay, if it was the other half of his mind, she only had to do what she'd done at the police station to be rid of him.

In the time it took Dog to realize she had used magic and smash her skull with his free hand instead of staring at his immobile fist like an idiot, she had already reached the disk panel on her Pip-Boy. She didn't think twice before tapping the 'Play' button.

"_Dog! Back in the cage!_"

The Nightkin blinked exactly three times before he straightened himself. He cast a quick glance around, only for his eye to finally focus on her. When he tried to bring his fist down to his hip, and noticed he couldn't, he shot her Pip-Boy an annoyed scowl. "Argonian, you would have my eternal... _gratitude_ if you were so kind as to return me my _hand_."

"No can do, mutant." She announced him. He looked less insane than before, however much that was worth when talking about _him_, but... one could never be too sure. Twelve certainly wasn't convinced: she poked his cheek with the shotgun's muzzle, and kept it there for good measure. Only after her nod did she continue. "Explain how he broke out and assure me it's not going to be a problem later, and _then_ you're free."

"It shall not happen as long as the Old Man remains silent, rest assured." The super mutant sighed, all but pouting in annoyance. "I am not certain of the way this works... but I do know this. While my voice may keep Dog at bay, the Old Man's words, the... _Master's_, set him free from his chains. That is all. If I do not hear him again, I will be fine." He glared down at the mute woman. "And you do realize you may very well doom us all with a mere twitch of your finger, do you, little doll?"

Screaming-Eagle shot him one last glare, but she eventually undid the spell. He was starting to get on her nerves like his original self, so that was definitely a good sign. That... beast lurking beneath the surface didn't look like it was capable of anything other than fighting, slobbering and being hungry. It couldn't even speak properly.

Twelve grudgingly lowered her weapon (but never moved her finger from the trigger), and Dean Domino finally regained what little remained of his composure and strolled to her side, clearing his throat as though nothing had happened. "Well... well done." He casually dusted his tuxedo. "Yes, well done."

"So... are we on our way to somewhere else?" The Nightkin asked the three of them, promptly disregarding the ghoul's moronic attempt at restoring a measure of his lost pride. "A Gala Event, perhaps?"

"No." Screaming-Eagle told him with a shrug. This prompted a frown of perplexity from the rest of her 'crew'. "I wasn't bluffing, I really _can_ get us into the Sierra Madre." This time, they all raised their brows in amazement. "I'm going to need every bottle of that red shit we have left, and ten minutes to sit down, my feet hurt like Oblivion." She smiled. "_Then_ we can begin."

* * *

Nope, downing every bottle left had been a _huge_ mistake.

Screaming-Eagle clasped a hand to her mouth, and swallowed down the last of Domino's dreadful brew that was threatening to rise up again. Ugh, Gods, it was one thing to be drier than the Alik'r desert and guzzle the first drink she found, but now that she wasn't thirsty... bleh. Had she known how bad it actually was, she would have rather drunk her own blood, or _worse_. Most disgusting shit she had ever forced herself to down – and there had been three bottles of it. Three fucking bottles she'd had to quaff in order to be strong enough to tear that gate open. Oh, fuck, her head was spinning so hard now... was she seeing double? She didn't have twelve fingers on her right hand last time she'd checked... wait, that was more than double, right?

Other than her stomach on the brink of exploding and her eyesight not helping in the slightest with the nausea, she was already feeling different. It was as though something other than blood coursed through her veins, raw... _power_ pushing hard against her mortal flesh and scales, begging to be released. It couldn't be described as anything else other than... hatred, or rage, yet in physical form. She had the strength of a goddess now, she could do as she wished, and the Earth would obey her...

As long as she didn't throw up her own guts, that was. Were... were her eyes falling out of their sockets? Hngh, it felt so... she hoped not... gods-dammit, was this how being drunk felt like to humans? _Shit_, at least they had the mercy of not being lucid... well, not like she was completely lucid, but still. She had the impression the memories of this moment weren't going to fade away.

She lurched unsteadily to her feet, and immediately felt her entrails go the opposite way. Nope, no exhaling through the mouth, or her whole digestive tract came out. Bracing herself against the fountain for a few seconds, her legs shaking and her insides somersaulting, she stared up at the twin holograms of the women in the blurry dresses and at the three heads they were pointing towards the Sierra Madre. The gate was right there, but she didn't dare try and read what was written on it in gold lest she vomited her own liver alongside... all the rest that was in there. Okay, little steps, one foot at a time, and she could do it... breathe in, breathe out. Don't puke, don't puke, by Akatosh, _holditallinanddon'tpuke_. That was easy, if she focused on it. Oh Gods, oh Divines, this was worse than when she'd first realized what the Cloud could do to her... _way _worse.

She should have drunk only one bottle of that shit, she knew it, she _knew_ it, _she knew it_. Once this was all over, she was going to need a bathroom... just what _was_ in those cocktails? She was _never_ drinking one of those things ever again... or anything even remotely red, for that matter, be it wine or strawberry juice or healing potions. Nope. Not taking the risk.

"_Argonian?_" Someone said, his or... _their_ voice distorted and reverberating as though inside a dream. She had to close her eyes to turn towards what she imagined to be its source and, upon opening them, saw two Nightkin frowning at her, arms folded across their chests. "_Are you all right? You look... drunk._"

"Dun't... fink so..." Screaming-Eagle half slurred, half burped, desperately attempting to hide the fact she could hardly speak. When the three super mutants tried to get closer, she firmly shook her head – and regretted it instantly. Her brain bounced up and down, left and right in her skull, ringing like a bell every time. She couldn't show it, or they were all going to assume she was weak and stop her. No, she didn't want anyone to help her, she was _fine_... well, fine-ish. She wasn't about to let _him_ or _them_ get any closer. With a decisive, if drunken, gesture, she waved them off.

A deafening crash made her jump out of her scales. She heard bricks being ground to dust, wood splintering and glass shattering, the noise rebounding off of every surface and stabbing lances of agony through her brains. If she turned to watch what had happened then her head was certainly going to come unscrewed, so she could only guess what was going on. Sounded like a catapult or a high-explosive missile had struck something. It was almost as if...

"_BLOODY FUCKING HELL!_" What sounded like a dozen Dean Dominoes squealed all around her, causing her to clasp her hands to her hearing canals and cry out in pain. Son of a bitch, couldn't he fucking talk instead of screaming? Turn the volume down a bit? Dagon take her, her vision shook harder and harder with every second of noise. "_Keep her the fuck away from me!_"

"_Sssshut upp_!" Screaming-Eagle moaned at him, careful not to make any sudden motions this time. Her hands went from her aching ears to her pained eyes. They were moist; was she crying? Ah, fuck if she knew, everything was so blurry and _painful_ she didn't even care at this point. She felt like shit. She just wanted this to end and go home and have Keram-Rei cook for her and sleep for a whole week. "_Moo_... mudant, wha'd I do? What's he want?"

No answer came for a several moments. She took advantage of the time by trying to get closer to the gate she was supposed to destroy. After... an uncertain number of steps (probably very few), she nearly tripped over her own feet. A pair of hands grabbed her by the shoulders to keep her somewhat up. The world span a bit less than before, and she was able to walk in a roughly straight line. Those hands felt kinda small. It couldn't be the mutant with his police baton-sized fingers, and the ghoul was probably too busy shitting himself to get any close to her... must've been Twelve. Sweet girl, a shame she was deaf and she couldn't properly thank her- no, wait, she was mute, not deaf... or was she blind? No, no, mute. Totally mute. She remembered, yes, she was the one she liked because she was quiet, right.

"_Perhaps you have drunk too much of the singer's... concoction, I would be more at ease if you were to stand down and rest._" The mutant told her after a while. Now that she was right in front of the gate, she saw the hundreds of black bars waving like serpents in front of her. Weren't they supposed to be still? And wasn't the super mutant supposed to... what, be a dick and not sound worried? "_You just... demolished a building's façade, Argonian. By simply moving your hand._"

Screaming-Eagle blinked, dumbfounded, but not so much as to face about and have her head come off of her shoulders. Bullshit. That didn't make any fucking sense, she wasn't that strong. "I... wha?"

"_We are completely, absolutely and utterly fucked._" Dean Domino sighed somewhere behind her. Or at least, she _thought_ he was somewhere behind her. It was hard to tell, what with all the echoes and how many of him there were around the square. "_Look at that cow, she's shitfaced! She's going to bring the whole town down around our ears!_"

Screaming-Eagle ignored his words, or what sounded like the Nightkin's reply, and focused entirely on the black gate before her. It was... high. Really high. Now, she didn't want to exaggerate there, but it was safe to say it looked like it might be around three hundred feet tall or something like that. No, wait... was it growing taller or growing shorter? If she squeezed her eyes really, really hard and made it stand still, she supposed it might have been around fifteen feet or something... but that was when it wasn't spiraling up into the red sky and only if she glanced at it out of the corner of her eye. The walls and buildings around it weren't that flexible, why was it the gate could move and those couldn't? Privileged bastard...

Bah, it didn't matter. She had to destroy it and by the Gods, she was going to... somehow. She shrugged her shoulders to make Twelve let her go, and the disfigured woman did so at once. She staggered a little, almost fell face-first into the boiling tiles of the square, but she managed to balance herself by setting her feet wide apart and planting them more or less firmly on the ground. Squinting to get the number of bars right, she finally managed to look right in front of her, at the gate within arm's reach. Okay, she was ready for some magic. She had to... well...

Wait, how did she magic again?

It wasn't with some fancy words, that was in the holomovies and the books from this world, no, no... or was it with the scrolls, too? Yeah, scrolls worked with words... no, she wasn't using a scroll, she was using her magic here, her own magic powers. Maybe she had to make a little dance... yeah, no, that was totally out of the question. She could hardly stand and walk, no dancing and smashing her face into the floor. She didn't have a staff, so it wasn't that. No... maybe a... wait...

Ah, fuck it, better to trust her instincts on this one. She wanted to get through, she knew she wanted to, although she didn't really remember why... something important? To go home? No – well, yes, but not directly. It was to get the Old Man out of hiding! A growl bubbled up in her chest at the thought. Motherfucker... he wanted that gate open, so she was going to open it and _bang!_ She was gonna get him. She was gonna get him _good_.

She had to do something if she wanted to make it fall, though... how did she make things fall again? Pushing them? No, not pushing them, that was too light. She had to _punch _it! With magic words, just to be sure. Something good for the occasion... aha, she knew what to say!

"Sssseriouss ssseriess..." Screaming-Eagle hissed, grimacing in concentration as she brought her closed fist back to strike. The further back her arm went, the more she felt her wild Magicka run through it, making her tremble with restrained might. One move, and it was all going to be unleashed. "Sssseriouss _punch_!"

She missed, drunkenly swung around, and toppled to the ground.

The earth beneath her shook, the rocks howling their rage to the heavens. The tiles cracked and parted around her, the buildings of the fountain's plaza crumbled to rubble and kicked up choking clouds of dust and debris. The gate before her squealed in agony at the strength of the blow, the metal screeching as it was torn asunder and thrown into the air, then thrust into the ground with violence.

Screaming-Eagle barely paid it any mind: her stomach did not resist the upheaval. She raised herself onto her side with her elbow, and emptied its contents onto the ground before her. Three whole bottles and some more... now it really felt like her eyes were falling out. Fuck, it wasn't an even red, some of it was brighter, some darker... was that _blood_?

When she was done, she fell on her back and gulped in the thick, dusty air. Her head reeled from all the noise and the movements, her internal... everything from her throat to her ass hurt so much she could barely even sit up. Oh, shit, oh, fuck, that had been horrible... never again. No more punching gates, no more drinking red shit, no more getting crews together, no more listening to old men that looked like pugs.

The exact moment she considered taking a nap, the thankfully singular shadow of the mutant loomed over her. She couldn't really decipher his expression, especially since half of his face was shut closed and his lips were malformed as usual. Cloud and mild nausea only worsened the situation. She had the sinking feeling he didn't look neither concerned, nor scared.

"Well done, Argonian." He spat out, his mocking laughter now replaced by a harsh scowl. At least his voice wasn't echoing and there weren't three of him... "You have truly outdone yourself this time. You do realize your... stunt could have very well killed us all, allowing the Old Man to keep on living?"

"But it didn't..." Screaming-Eagle croaked. She closed her eyes just to save herself the sight of him scowling harder (and to keep them from rolling out of their sockets), and pointed at the puddle of sick somewhere to her... left, yes. "Look, mutant... thanks to _that _we're alive, kinda fine, and the gate's down..."

"Along with the rest of the square." The Nightkin retorted in a growl. He gestured to an area she couldn't see behind his back. "Now this part of the Villa is in ruins, and the... _residents_ are going to flock to this place in mere minutes. We have precious little time before we are overrun, and yet you employ it by... resting there, on the ground, doing _nothing_."

Screaming-Eagle opened a single eye this time, and stared up at him with the shadow of a smile. She couldn't help it, feeling sick or no, there was something funny about this whole thing. She had never even come close to possessing such destructive powers, let alone using them. "But it was awesome, wasn't it?"

The super mutant didn't even deign her with an answer. He sighed out loud, muttered something under his breath, and vanished from her sight. She heard some vague exchange between him and what sounded like an extremely frightened Dean Domino. She wasn't too sure of what was being said, but the enormous difference in tone between the two must have made it rather comical.

She shook her head with a huff. Okay, now that the world wasn't spinning as hard as five minutes ago and her body wasn't about to fall apart, she pushed herself into a sitting position. The spears of pain piercing her head had receded to pins – annoying, but much more manageable. Climbing to her feet and coughing away the dust that had gotten in her throat, she glanced at her new surroundings, and... well...

There wasn't much left in the way of surroundings.

What had once been a circle of long-abandoned two-story homes and shops enveloping the square had turned into mounds of shattered bricks, old timbers jutting out of the piles like broken bones. The air was made even thicker by a cloud of dust that had still to settle and mixed with the Cloud itself to create a thick pinkish mist. The ground beneath her feet had been ripped open, the tiles separated in places by broad cracks zigzagging their way through the plaza, easily a foot deep. That cursed fountain had split in two, no more topped by the hologram of the woman in the evening dress, the smoke rising from the projector's circuits adding to the fog. As for the gate itself, it simply _wasn't there_. Sure, some spikes of black iron rose up from the ruins here and there to remind her that something metal had once existed in that general area, but that was all she could see of the impenetrable gate.

Uncertain footsteps warned her of Twelve's presence. She shot the woman a quick glance, noticing how her expression had gone completely blank, and how her shoulders shook when she met her eyes. She held a white-knuckled grip on her shotgun and just... stood there, seemingly content to creepily stare at the creature who had caused a miniature earthquake with a missed punch.

"What?" Screaming-Eagle asked her with an offended frown. She theatrically brought a hand to her chest when she noticed the other's lips twitch upwards. "I was supposed to open the gate, nobody ever said anything about the square that was attached to it." She raised a brow when she began to chuckle silently. "Come on now, the sooner we get this over with, the better. Don't you agree?"

"SOD OFF, I'M NOT GOING ANYWHERE NEAR THAT BLOODY WITCH!" The ghoul screeched, piquing her attention. She turned just in time to see him flail his arms wildly and scream in the mutant's face – who still remained stolid as ever. "FUCK YOU, AND FUCK HER_ SIDEWAYS_, I'M-"

"You're _what_, Domino?" Screaming-Eagle quietly asked as she strode towards him, flanked by Twelve, mouth creased in an amused little smile. It was hard not to laugh when he went completely stiff and quiet. "I hope you were going to say 'I'm joking, and I will serve her with utmost loyalty until this is all over'. Isn't that so, _singer_?"

"Y-yes!" Dean Domino whimpered, giving her a series of frantic nods to confirm that it had indeed been his intention. What a poor way to cover his sorry ass. "I-I-I... of course, of course! Yes!" He let out a nervous giggle through clenched teeth and playfully punched the super mutant's arm. "W-we were jo-joking! Isn't that so, Strong Man?"

"You are pathetic, showman." The Nightkin spurned him with a snort. He looked at entire crew assembled before him, and his eye narrowed in distaste. "Well? What are we waiting for? The Sierra Madre awaits... and so does the Old Man."

Screaming-Eagle answered by facing about and heading out toward what little was left of the gate. Beyond the dust and Cloud she saw a great winding stairway rise up the hill, the odd lamp flickering and casting its ruddy light over the ancient steps. Her gaze instinctively went up, following the line of the path, up until she was met with the looming form of the casino's tower. The crimson mantle covering the sky swirled and folded unto itself, scarlet lightning intermittently cracked through the blanket and flashed hard against the Sierra Madre's silhouette. As the others either placidly strolled up the steps like the mutant or trotted madly like the ghoul, with Twelve holding onto her shotgun and following at a fair distance from the two, she remained where she was.

She had an idea.

Assuming that, just for a second, the Old Man had to get inside the same way as they, he was almost certainly going to have to face the locals' rage to get there. Still assuming that he made it through without a scratch, he had no idea how magic worked, nor could he distinguish between spells of different schools such as, say, Restoration, Alteration and Destruction. For all she cared, he may very well dismiss her localized havoc as mere chance, or some highly elaborate ploy involving explosives stashed away someplace secret. He didn't seem like the kind of guy to accept the impossible or irrational.

Grinning horn to horn, she crouched right at the start of the stairs. She began to move her hand in a slow, circular motion, focusing on the lightning up above to aid herself in her intent. A pair of concentric circles began to form on the three steps before her, the blue glow growing more and more vivid with each passing second. She added more layers to it, smaller circles crossing the greatest lines of power to distribute the magic equally across the surface, Daedric runes appearing at the edges to give it purpose... and finally, in the middle, the runic letter for 'L'. Electricity coursed through the circles and arced between each rune, all connected by the largest one in the center. True, it flickered and almost winked out a couple of times, but that was the closest thing to a Lightning Rune she could possibly conjure in that caustic environment.

Her magic wasn't as strong and uncontrollable as before, either... which was both a blessing _and_ a curse, for obvious reasons. She finally wasn't nauseous nor drunk, and she could exert a certain level of control over her arcane arts... yet it was nowhere near the true might she had wielded when she had annihilated the gate and all of the fountain's square. Ah, whatever – what truly mattered was that her magic still hadn't left her. She would have time to dwell upon the thought later... unless what the mutant had said was indeed true and she only had a minute or two before the locals came to the Sierra Madre's doorstep. Well, in that case...

Screaming-Eagle smiled impishly, expectantly rubbing her palms together. Gods willing, she could climb a lot of steps and plant a lot of runes in a minute or two.


	37. Chasing a Forlorn Hope

A pale silver moon shone in the deep blue ocean above, the brightest beacon among the endless sea of stars dotting the night sky. A gentle breeze whispered across the dunes and hills, hardly strong enough to be heard. The desert was deadly quiet and still, empty, save for the cracked asphalt of the road beneath their feet and the upturned, rusted husks of cars and trucks littering the roadside. The only sounds to grace their ears, aside from the voiceless wind, were the harsh thuds of their boots, and the scraping of talons against the road.

Keram-Rei ruined the almost magical atmosphere with a snort and looked over his shoulder. He was in the leading position of the motley crew he'd managed to arrange, flanked by Phoenix in her leather armor, hunting rifle and backpack to his right and by the tribal boy Follows-Chalk to his left, who was currently busy shooting furtive glances towards the black-haired girl. That didn't surprise him, of course, there couldn't have been two years of difference between them... no, it was the tribal himself that caused him to frown. Was that guy impervious to cold? They were out in the desert,_ at night_, and he only wore a loincloth, a baseball cap, and his own tattoos. Barefooted, to top it all. Was he a Nord or something? No, Nords didn't go to war with a wooden club shaped like a horse's head and a Colt pistol. Not to mention, he could bother talking every once in a while, they weren't going to eat him for that. Well, the deathclaw might, come to think of it.

Behind them followed Eyes-Of-Silver in what remained of his Dragonbone armor, more craters than actual bone after his last little adventure, axes crossed behind his back and flamethrower slung over his shoulder. At his side came... well, that albino... _thing_. It was easily bigger than the werewolf himself, if only a bit shorter – but that was only because it was hunched over by nature and it walked on all fours. How that damn wolf had tamed the beast was a complete mystery. Keram-Rei only knew that he didn't like the way it cocked its head, licked its teeth and cooed when their eyes met. He shuddered and went back to gazing ahead of him. He would never have thought to lead this expedition, hadn't the situation been so dire.

Screaming-Eagle was out there, somewhere, all alone... or worse yet, not alone at all. He didn't know which of the two alternatives scared him the most.

Two days. Two fucking days had passed, counting the morning Screaming-Eagle had snapped and run off into the desert. He had decided to start his search before lunchtime that same day; he'd been ready in the early afternoon. Once Yes Man had transmitted the last coordinates sent by Screaming-Eagle's Pip-Boy to his own device, he had been about to set off. Last known location before her signal had disappeared within a mile-wide radius of an area thirty or so miles Southeast of Vegas, not far from a few small settlements, a Legion camp and an NCR base.

By the time he'd entered the elevator, Eyes-Of-Silver, Phoenix and that tribal boy had joined for virtue of being a natural hunter, knowing someone who might be of help (and wanting to get away from some trouble with Veronica, he suspected), and... wishing to travel the world while going all puppy-eyed over a girl his age, respectively. Well, he'd originally wanted it to be a quick thing, but having more people tag along could only hearten him.

At that point, since the implications of leaving that creature alone in Vegas were best not contemplated, Eyes-Of-Silver had decided to bring the deathclaw with them. Taking it out of the basement had been easy. To say sneaking it out of town had been problematic would have been the understatement of the century. Things had gone well for... perhaps five feet, definitely no more than ten. Then everything had gone to shit. People running and screaming left and right, whole squads of NCR military police threatening to open fire, Securitrons flashing their sirens and asking the crowd to remain calm while they readied shoulder-mounted rockets, Eyes-Of-Silver bellowing everyone into silence in some outlandish accent... damn, 'problematic'? Who was he kidding, it had been a fucking _nightmare_ just to get that beast out to the Old Vegas ruins.

Maria had been left home to be safely watched over by Naeera, who had made it abundantly clear she had no intention to join. A bitch move on her part, sure, but understandable. She and the Archmage had never seen eye-to-eye on anything, and if the thief were the first thing to make contact with Screaming-Eagle when they found her... no, actually, it was a fairly smart move, nobody would like being glared literal daggers at while they were flayed alive. The doctor, Arcade, had decided to stay, if only to monitor the comatose redhead cowgirl Eyes-Of-Silver had brought in and keep an eye on Naeera before she did anything stupid. And then, well...

Then there was Graham.

Joshua _motherfucking _Graham. Best buds with Caesar up until four years ago, when his former boss had been so disappointed with the result of the Battle of Hoover Dam and the Boulder City fiasco as to cover his friend in pitch, light him on fire, and throw him into the Grand Canyon to show his armies nobody fucked with him. Akatosh knew how in the name of _fuck_ Eyes-Of-Silver had stumbled upon him and offered him hospitality, along with some tribals, a vaguely Asian-looking guy with a broad hat named Daniel and that gods-damn albino demon. He could deal with some tribesmen, or even a deathclaw... but the repentant former Legate of the entire Legion? Really?

Okay, he had to say that guy was pretty calm and not the hateful prick he'd imagined, maybe horrendous agony and third-degree burns all over his body had changed him in some way. He wasn't a big fan of the Legion now, that much was sure. Still, something didn't sit right with the battlemage. Joshua Graham had been the cause of a good half of the problems plaguing Nevada and California, and had basically helped create the Legion itself as one of its most ruthless leaders – he couldn't have just been _sorry_ about the whole deal, snapped his fingers and decided to abandon everything about his past self while going all religious one Sundas morning. Or Sunday on this world, _whatever_.

At any rate, the only people who trusted him were the ones who had come with him to the Lucky 38 – and now that was only the boy, Follows-Chalk, who considered him to be some kind of warrior-prophet. Daniel and one of the women (Waking... something) had heard of Arcade's group and had chosen to give a hand with the sick and wounded in Freeside, while the Followers would teach the other woman and the two kids some proper English, maybe help them with whatever they might need. All six of them only had respect for him, saw him as a wise leader.

As for everyone else... well, they avoided Graham like the plague. Maria was scared out of her mind, Arcade had refused to live on the same floor as he, Phoenix had almost had a seizure, Veronica had slammed her door in his face, Eyes-Of-Silver had begun to regret his decision, and he wasn't too sure Naeera hadn't already threatened or outright killed him while they were away. Not to mention, those fifteen seconds they had met, Screaming-Eagle had flung him into a solid metal railing so hard his body had _bent _it. Divines knew how that guy hadn't broken his back, or a few ribs. Then again, he'd survived being set on fire and falling into the _Grand Canyon_. Wouldn't be surprising if he were bulletproof and that vest was there just for show.

Keram-Rei blew out a grudging sigh at the thought of having to deal with that man again, or with how everyone else wanted to be rid of him, _or_ with Treads-In-Gloom simply existing...

_Yeah, yeah, yeah, it's mutual when it comes to your rants, you little whiny bitch. Are you done giving context to the scene, so we can move the story forward?_

Precisely.

Back to more immediate matters before he popped a vein or started headbutting the nearest wreckage.

He turned to Phoenix with something very vaguely reminiscent of nonchalance, and much closer to worry and a bit of paranoia. No thinking about the mummy tutting at the mention of magic and Gods or that white monster behind his back chewing on his leg for the time being, that only made things worse. "Are you sure this guy's not going to kill us the moment he sees us?"

"Relax, he knows me." She waved him off. She flashed him a smirk, her green eyes sparkling with a hope he wasn't quite sure he shared. "He owes me, he won't shoot."

_Oh, now _that _is reassuring._

He ran a resigned hand through his red feathers. Sure, if a sixteen year old told him so, then there was nothing to worry about. After all, it wasn't like only two people out of five in that party were actual humans, while the other two were reptiles considered to untrustworthy by the NCR and mortal enemies by the Legion... oh, right, and the last member of the party was a gods-damn _deathclaw_, deadliest creature this side of the fucking world. "I hope you're right..."

"She _is_ right, 'twould be an utterly idiotic move to even _consider_ opening fire on us." Eyes-Of-Silver assured him with a pat of his huge hand on the shoulder. Okay, coming from him, that actually sounded believable. The werewolf was about as blunt as a sledgehammer when it came to _anything_. "The only weapons that may prove of any use in readily despatching our group would be the sort usually mounted on military vehicles and aircraft, or perhaps a rather large Fat Man." He gave them a smirk that he'd probably intended as reassuring; it just came off as grim. "We are well-spaced, the wrecks around us provide plenty of cover, and our deathclaw's hide is quite possibly thicker than that of a Dragon – our attacker would get away with eliminating one, perhaps two of us before being overwhelmed and brutally slaughtered. So, unless Phoenix's mysterious friend is either a Fiend or a legionary, we should receive no offense." He hummed thoughtfully. "That is, if he is not leading a garrison comprised of several armed men complete with sniper nests, fire support from mortars, vehicles and-"

"_Thanks_, Eyes-Of-Silver." Keram-Rei cut him off, stalling him and his increasingly worrying predictions. That had stopped being reassuring after the second sentence – the bit about mortars made his scales crawl. He turned around and gave him a nervous smile to make sure he stopped stroking his jaw and listing every possible death that may be waiting for them. "That was really... helpful. And detailed."

"Come on, don't listen to him and just stop worrying already." Phoenix snickered in a tone that reminded him way too much of Naeera. She punched him on the arm, and grinned at the way he furrowed his spiked brows. "It's not a damn Pre-War U.S. Army base, it's a _village_! There's fifty people living there, tops, and two thirds are really old folk anyway." She playfully pushed him away. "We meet my friend, I convince him, and he takes us to Screaming-Eagle, easy as that."

"Whatever you say." Keram-Rei huffed. He should have just shut up, would have kept him more at ease. She was right, though. Why would this village be so special as to leave him speechless?

* * *

_Okay, I'm... officially at a loss. I don't know what to say._

This was one of the few times he could actually agree with Treads-In-Gloom on any given thing. He could understand everything. The ancient motel repurposed into a sort of apartment building, the series of old Pre-War prefabs supposedly inhabited by old people, the diseased two-headed cows he had started to see pretty much everywhere – even the putrid corpse of a headless old lady left to rot by the side of the road. He could deal with all of that. Even waiting for Phoenix to return from her persuasion attempt while they stood on a highway overpass that felt like the most unsafe place in the world was fine with him. So long as they got to Screaming-Eagle quicker that way, he could accept _almost_ everything.

But why the fuck was a sixty feet tall T-Rex holding a thermometer with the word 'MOTEL' written on it?

_Beats me, and I've seen a lot of weird shit in my day._

For the first time in well over a day, Follows-Chalk made a noise. It was a choked little sound, a mixture of admiration and accomplishment. His eyes lit up with awe as he stared at the rusty statue. "Is... is that... a _giant thunder lizard_?"

"No, 'tis the most inaccurate bloody thing I have ever seen." Eyes-Of-Silver scoffed, arms folded across his chest and scarred thin lips set in a grimace, as though the statue's very existence were a personal affront. "The Tyrannosaurus Rex was an apex predator in North America during the Cretaceous Period. Most important of all, 'twas _feathered_. It certainly did not resemble a toy for toddlers." He waved a hand in the direction of the deathclaw to his right, who was currently... regarding the T-Rex thing with scorn, growls bubbling in the back of its throat. "Bloody Oblivion, look! Even Sirris understands this thing is atrocious!"

"Can't we all just agree it looks ugly and... wait a second, _what_?" Keram-Rei spluttered, his wide eyes focused on the werewolf. He gestured towards the creature at his side, then towards him. Sirris... he took hold of his horns and groaned in exasperation. "Oh, by Kynareth's holy... you gave it a _name_?"

_Reminds me of a knightess I met someplace else..._

"First of all, Keram-Rei, I would rather you referred to Sirris as a _her_, not an _it_." Eyes-Of-Silver corrected him, the leftovers of his annoyance still audible as he explained his insane decision to the battlemage. "Secondly, yes, of course I did. I could not possibly keep on calling her 'deathclaw' or 'stupid slag' for the rest of eternity now, could I? 'Tis better this way. Sirris is a rather prepossessive name for a creature I met in the moonlight, it has a... 'nice ring to it', as you would say." He chuckled, glancing back at... _her_ and grinning. "Besides, now that she is not in heat any longer and she has stopped harassing me, I have to say she makes for a fine pet. Hunting is a much more enjoyable experience when shared with another beast, and her senses are as acute as mine, if not more. She has also shown me new hunting grounds, teeming with wildlife upon which we may prey. She is quite useful."

Keram-Rei's jaw felt like it could come unhinged. He... he honestly had no way to reply to what he had just heard. He had to work his mouth and prod his brain for a few seconds before he could actually come up with an answer to it, and do so without screaming it. "Okay... let me get this straight." He pointed an accusing finger towards the deathclaw, _Sirris_; in response, _she_ trilled in curiosity at _her_ mention. He suppressed a shiver. "You're telling me that _thing_ is a... good pet, and now _she_ has a woman's name because it sounds nice. _That_ is what you're telling me right now with a straight face."

_Please don't throw a fit..._

Eyes-Of-Silver blinked. He shrugged, obviously not understanding the reason for his hanging jaw. "That is correct."

… _You're totally throwing a fit._

"I... you... it's a fucking _deathclaw_!" Keram-Rei blurted out, unsure whether to rip his feathers out or punch the werewolf in the teeth (or himself to silence the vampire). "It's the most dangerous predator _ever_!This makes no gods-damn sense, it's... we live in _Vegas_! What kind of lunatic keeps a fucking deathclaw in a casino's basement, where it could get out and kill _everyone_ outside?!" He spread his arms out in bewilderment. "What's next, we're gonna have a half-robot dog that drives army trucks and got here through teleporter?" He bared his fangs and narrowed his eyes on the werewolf, no matter if both he and his 'pet' were frowning at him in what appeared to be puzzlement. He had no intention of stopping from speaking his mind about the whole deal. He'd had _enough_."That _thing_ is one of the reasons we're looking for Screaming-Eagle in the first place, Eyes-Of-Silver! AND YOU GAVE IT A FUCKING NAME! YOU NAMED A MOTHERFUCKING-"

"DEATHCLAW!"

"I KNOW WHAT THE FUCK IT IS, I'M NOT AN IDIOT!" Keram-Rei snarled in reply, his head snapping around to meet the idiot who'd interrupted him. He glared daggers at the bald black man in pajamas gawping at them from behind the town's chain-link gate. "OF COURSE IT'S A FUCKING DEATHCLAW, JUST LOOK AT THAT UGLY BITCH! _LOOK AT IT! _THAT THING IS ONE OF THE REASONS I'M GOING INSANE, AND YOU'RE NOT HELPING IN THE SLIGHTEST, BUDDY!" He directed his rage to the heavens with a wordless shout, arms raised as if to rip the stars down and stomp them shut _one by one_. "GODS-FUCKING-DAMMIT, THE ONLY SANE PERSON I EVER FUCKING KNEW WAS SO FED UP WITH THIS BULLSHIT SHE _LEFT_! WHEN THE _FUCK_ HAS MY LIFE GONE SO WRONG?! I WAS SO HAPPY BACK IN SKYRIM, BUT _NOOOOO_, I JUST _HAD_ TO PULL THAT FUCKING LEVER AND MAGICALLY WAKE UP IN THIS SHITHOLE! _I HATE THIS WORLD!_"

His arms fell down his sides, his shoulders slumped along with them. His chest rose and fell with each heavy breath he took, his throat ached from all the shouting, his heart's pounding started to slow back to normal when his rage began to dissipate. He clacked his tongue and swallowed. This... that weight he had been feeling, somewhere between his throat and his sternum, was gone. He'd needed it, a way to express what he felt, explode now so that he didn't do so later and eviscerate someone with a teaspoon. The little crowd gathering behind the gate, staring at their freak show and at him recovering... worth it. Yes, sure, everyone was looking at him like he'd gone insane _in addition_ to the usual rubbernecking he got outside of Vegas for simply being Argonian. He was sure Follows-Chalk was adding his own dumbfounded look behind his back, too.

A fit of hysteric giggles broke out inside of his mind.

An enormous hand covered his right shoulder, weighing him down. It remained there for a moment or two, in silence, up until the moment a mountain cleared his throat. "Are you... feeling quite all right, Keram-Rei?"

"Yeah." Keram-Rei breathed. He closed his eyes and let out a long, quiet breath, setting aside everything around him save for the werewolf's words and hand. "All better."

_Heh, I... ha-ha, I'm better alright..._

"That is most certainly good to hear, yet, ah..." Eyes-Of-Silver trailed off, obviously unsure of what to say. He liked to think he wasn't barely holding back laughter. "Could your next breakdown please wait until we are a good kilometre or two away from any and all forms of civilization?" He paused to draw in a shivering breath. He definitely _did not_ titter. "That was rather embarrassing to witness. You were as powerlessly raging as an overturned tortoise about to-"

"Don't." Keram-Rei deadpanned, facing about to stare into his quicksilver eyes. He ignored the two feet and the hundreds of pounds he had on him. He simply raised his index finger, and held it in front of the werewolf's nigh-scaleless snout. "Just don't. Stop it. Please. _Everyone._"

Finally. Some silence, peace, quiet, and time to-

"I'm gone for five minutes, and _this_ happens?"

Keram-Rei did his best not to take Phoenix's words to heart. It was all cool, he'd vented everything he had to vent, no reason to get even angrier now. He slowly, _slowly_ turned around to meet the girl's puzzled eyes and her even more puzzled slack jaw from all the way across the road. She pinched the bridge of her nose and drew her head back to stare into the night sky, then let out a tired huff and scurried over to them, her eyes never leaving the ground out of... embarrassment, most likely. Like she was the one who'd lost it and everyone was looking at in the first place.

The man to her right was, in turn, the exact opposite of her in... everything. Dressed in khaki pants, black combat boots, a white t-shirt and a tan leather jacket, his step was more akin to a military march, his posture proud, almost stiff. His expression was set in stone, squared jaw locked in place, features immobile in their blankness, eyes covered by a pair of mirrored sunglasses. He wasn't particularly imposing, nor too tall, but he had all the air of a man who meant business. With the scoped rifle held at ease across his chest and the crimson 1st Recon beret donned over his shaved head added to the picture, he seemed like the sort of guy nobody wanted to mess with... unless they were feeling particularly stupid or suicidal, that was.

"Okay, right, presentations are gonna be real quick because I wanna get out of here before anyone starts talking about what just happened." Phoenix explained in one breath as soon as she reached them, always careful not to turn towards the now-murmuring crowd. She gestured quickly towards her new companion. "Guys, this is my friend, Boone."

"We're not _friends_." The man growled. It wasn't hostile or anything, his voice just had the sound of gravel being ground under a tank's treads. If he was surprised in any way by the unlikely quartet before his concealed eyes, he didn't show it in the slightest. "You helped me, I'm returning the favor."

"Yeah, anyway... Boone, these are my friends." Phoenix continued in a hushed voice. She pointed at each of them and then went back to 'Boone'. Didn't really sound like a name, more like a surname... whatever. "They're Follows-Chalk, Keram-Rei, Eyes-Of-Silver, and our deathclaw."

"You've already told me." Boone grunted impassively. He looked at each of them – even the deathclaw – and considered them all for a moment. His greatest display of emotion was raising his left eyebrow for an instant before he turned back to the girl. "I still think you're insane. What do you need?"

"I'm the one who put this all together, so..." Keram-Rei grumbled, unsure on what expression to show. He had mixed feelings about this guy. On one hand, he wasn't asking any obvious questions or going 'whoa, dude, deathclaws/aliens' all the time, and that was a sweet relief... but on the other, he was about as emotionless as a Securitron, and just as interested in the matter as one of the cursed robots.

He suppressed a smirk. Well, time to put that to the test. "Look, we wouldn't be here if there had been any trail for our deathclaw and werewolf to follow, so we're asking you. Have you seen a woman that looks like me, but with red scales and without a tail, dressed in gray robes, riding the burning skeleton of a black horse on the way here?"

_Well, that was... believable._

Boone tilted his head and lowered his glasses just enough to scowl at Phoenix, who started giggling like crazy. He then put them back in place, turned towards him with a quiet sigh, and gave him a minuscule shake of his head. "No."

Keram-Rei waited for him to go on. When it was clear he had nothing else to say, he frowned, _hard_. "That's it?"

"Yes." Boone answered, nodding slightly. "Haven't seen her."

Keram-Rei blinked. He... no, okay, he was too confused to actually get mad this time. Was _this_ Phoenix's idea of 'a guy who could help'? A man who talked in simple sentences and monosyllables and seemed to have virtually no desire to give a hand whatsoever? This guy? "And... any idea where we might, I dunno, start looking?" He shrugged, unsure of what else to do. "Know anyone who might be of help?"

Boone nodded again. This time, it wasn't as clipped as before, it held more... unspoken regret to it. His posture tensed, and the muscles on his jaw bulged ever so slightly, making it clear he didn't like where this was going. "Yes, but you're going to need me." He turned towards the girl one more time to scowl. "I hate you, Phoenix."

* * *

"DEATHCLAWS!"

Gods-fucking-dammit.

_Well, to be fair, none of this would be happening if the dog hadn't brought that... little receptacle of beauty along._

Keram-Rei strangely found himself in agreement, but there wasn't much he could do about it. He put his hands in the air when he heard the unmistakable clacks of rifles being cocked ready, followed by everyone else with him – save for the deathclaw herself, Sirris. The creature merely stayed behind her owner... master... _Eyes-Of-Silver_ and limited herself to mimicking whatever he did. The battlemage pretended to ignore the blinding glare of the flashlights being shoved in his face for the sake of keeping this civil and not getting anyone killed. Their relationships with the NCR were rickety enough already, no need for another incident to ruin them forever.

It had taken them an hour or two of awkward silence to get to this place Boone had led them to, a forward base called 'Camp Forlorn Hope'. It wasn't particularly large, nor did it remind him of any other camp he had ever seen. Camp McCarran was recognizable, it was _huge _despite its ugliness – a whole fucking airport repurposed into a military base, for Talos's sake. Camps within the Imperial Legion were large, organized in neat rows, extremely efficient, even more so than Caesar's Legion endless seas of red.

This one was... just a mass of rusty metal shacks and olive green tents huddled on top of big crags and boulders, surrounded by chain link fence. There wasn't even an entrance to the thing, what they stood before were two sandbag emplacements on either side of an empty space on a road roughly as wide as a flatbed truck. How did all those soldiers threatening them even _fit_ into that outpost?

When they lowered their flashlights, he realized the answer was easier than he would've ever thought.

There were hardly any.

He grimaced at the sight. He wasn't quite sure _what_ he was feeling; he'd never been able to stand the sight of a garrison decimated like that, be it because of low funding, low supplies, high casualties, or all of the above. Those could have been the men of his legion against a stronger Stormcloak rebellion or a harsher winter, a few months ago. Here, instead of the elite sniper outfit escorting them and the platoon waiting for them by the motor pool of Camp McCarran, the welcome committee for his party consisted of five scrawny troopers. They were either very young or in their mid-forties, their uniforms clearly too large for their gaunt frames. The rifles all but shook in the hands of the youngest, while the oldest regarded them with the eyes of people who, despite all the shit they'd seen, were still capable of shaking with fear. Unlike all those who had held them at gunpoint until then, though, they didn't appear to be particularly eager to shoot.

_Oh, stop being an emotional little pussy and focus on the essentials: they're armed, and they're in your way. Don't pity them just yet._

"Halt!" A man in his late thirties called, apparently unfazed – though not as much as Boone had been. It was plain to see he was feigning calm (and quite poorly at that) for sake of looking like the soldier he was supposed to be. He scanned each of them with wide eyes, visage hidden by his thick beard. Must have been their leader. "This... this area is off-limits. Provide your IDs and state your business, or we will-"

Sirris prowled forward and growled. It... _she _took no more than three steps towards the entry checkpoint, enough for her to put the party behind herself and stare down the guns' barrels. Her sword-long talons dug gouges in the dirt as she sat down, straightened her spine, and blew out a snort in challenge.

While the troopers were too concentrated keeping their rifles pointed and not curling up on the ground and crying, Boone decided it was the perfect time to walk past the deathclaw as though it were nothing more than a stray cat and sketch an almost informal salute. "Sergeant Craig Boone, First Reconnaissance Battalion, Alpha Team." His sunglasses (why the fuck was he wearing them this late at night?) fell down to the tip of his nose, allowing him to stare directly at the sentries. One of them yelped at the sound of his gravelly voice. "Enough to let us through?"

"Sir, I... y-yes, sir." The man sputtered, answering with a hesitant salute – the only one to let go of his weapon with one arm to do that. He gave one last look to the deathclaw, and his voice fell to a whisper. "S-sir, but, ah... about that _thing_... do we let it through, or..."

"Completely harmless, I assure you." Eyes-Of-Silver interjected, casually waving him off with his mechanical arm. The ebony shoulder creaked loudly; it had been doing so ever since the werewolf had repaired it, after the run-in with the Legion he said he'd had in the ruins. "I have trained her myself, and now Sirris is quite the model deathclaw." He laughed at the look on their faces. "Worry not, we shall not be staying long, merely the time necessary to gather the information we require."

The NCO gave him a slow, numb nod, more to convince himself that this was only some twisted fantasy than to tell them they were good to go. None of his men lowered their guns. The sentries merely shuffled back behind their sandbags, never let the unlikely quintet out of their sights and... that meant their group was allowed passage, apparently.

Keram-Rei raised a brow at the dumbstruck and tense soldiers, but ultimately dismissed them with a shrug. Whatever got them into the base and past those starved watch dogs was good for him. At least the deathclaw was turning out to be of some use. She was definitely going to be a problem the moment the other troopers saw her, no doubt about that, but still... worst-case scenario, she was a bigger target than him when shit hit the fan. That would give them time to take cover somewhere or fight back with a slightly smaller number of bullets being hurled their way, if things really did go awful. Hopefully, Boone would be able to prove his 'help' extended past convincing five scared men to let them through a non-existent gate.

_Give stone cold veteran some credit, he doesn't look that useless. He's not _you_._

* * *

When they got into the encampment proper, he could feel there was something off about it. He didn't see anyone there, no other sentry or patrol, just... _nobody_. Was everyone seriously sleeping? No, that made no sense, there was supposed to be someone standing guard inside. There was no way in Oblivion he could only hear the wind rustling through the tents' rough fabric and shaking the shacks' metal sheets in a base so close to the Legion, with no marching step to break the silence. The lit barrels were few and far between, the other sources of light being oil lamps on sporadic wooden posts. An old generator buzzed along somewhere out of sight, the only hint of electrical power in the otherwise unpowered base. Boone appeared to be sure of where he was going, though, navigating the chaos and confusion of the camp's layout with immense ease.

Before the battlemage could even _ask_ where exactly they were going, Boone chose a seemingly random big tent and vanished into it. Phoenix blindly followed him inside, joined swiftly by Follows-Chalk. Hushed voices marked their entrance. Although only the werewolf could know for sure what they were saying, the tone implied someone was pleasantly surprised with... something. Or not angry, at any rate. If a tribal, a teenager and a former NCR sniper didn't cause a stir, then perhaps they really had a chance to convince the command staff on their own. Still...

Keram-Rei hesitated for a moment. On one hand, he really, _really_ didn't want to ruin everything just because the officer in there might recognize him from some radio transmission as the guy who'd told a colonel, a major and an ambassador to fuck off – and on what occasion such a thing had happened. On the other, what would he accomplish by just staying out there? Virtually anyone could see him, Eyes-Of-Silver and a deathclaw standing outside like idiots. Not to mention, the base's commander was bound to ask of them if Boone or Phoenix mentioned the fact they had some 'friends' outside.

Well... a verbal middle finger and a few murders he wasn't accountable for didn't have the same weight as having protected the most important military base of the New California Republic in Nevada and having taken two bullets intended for another soldier, right? Even if an albino deathclaw and an eight feet tall werewolf looked more like a coercion attempt than anything?

_It's gonna work just fine, trust me. Helps if you go in there naked as a worm and start dancing like a Khajiit high on moon sugar, too._

The parasite sort of had a point there though... ah, screw it, this was Screaming-Eagle they were talking about. It was worth a shot. Eyes-Of-Silver and his pet could go for a hike around the base if they were an issue.

He didn't wait for the werewolf to enter. He gripped at the drab entrance flap, ducked his head, and found himself in what had to be the largest tent he'd ever seen. The floor was made of metal panels ripped from an older building's pavement, the walls and roof of greenish tarp interrupted by the metal pipes of the supporting structure upon which industrial lights had been placed. Wires trailed and tangled to his left, all ending up into a piece of radio equipment or another: small tables and folding chairs on the brink of collapsing under the weight of bulky terminals, microphones, ham radios and yet more techno gizmos he wasn't sure he could identify. To his right were a trio of desks, pencils and pens, documents, pages and booklets of all shapes and sizes littering their surface and the closest square feet of floor, while the wall beyond was hidden by a continuous row of rusted shelves filled to the brim with folders. A long hardwood table and a pair of blackboards dominated the middle of the command center, tactical maps, troop movements and military codes scrabbled or spread out on them.

The amount of space would have allowed for roughly a score of NCR personnel to work there, two dozens tops. Instead, the only people beside Follows-Chalk and Phoenix were a middle-aged mustachioed man talking with the two, a red-haired woman sitting by the radios (and who may have very well been in another room entirely, judging by the headset covering her ears), and another soldier standing guard by the desks.

Needless to say, every single head turned to him at once – save for the woman in the corner, who was copying the contents of some old notebook onto a scrap of paper. She humphed triumphantly, took her headphones off and pushed herself up from the chair, waving the note towards the main table. "Major Polatli, I've got the..." She trailed off when she saw him. "The... ah..."

"I get that a lot." Keram-Rei smiled nervously at the woman. One false move, and... well, actually, this battle he could win. There were three of them, and five on his side. Still, massacring the base's Major and what little remained of his entourage wasn't good for diplomacy, was it? Especially if he wanted to know something about where Screaming-Eagle was. Better keep it cool. "Yes, I'm-"

"You're the man... _thing_ who told Colonel Hsu, Major Dhatri and Ambassador Crocker to fuck off." The red-haired woman completed, both brows lost behind tufts as bright scarlet as his feathers. That couldn't have been a natural color. "I didn't think those reports... _wow_. You're taller than I thought."

Boone snorted. Might have been in amusement.

Keram-Rei was just about to blink and nod his thanks – really, what else could he say to that? – when he heard the unmistakable screech of daggers dragging on metal. He hid his eyes behind his hand, similarly to how Phoenix did that exact same moment, and heard Eyes-Of-Silver's distinctive, thoughtful hum. As if things couldn't have been any worse and as if the Major and the other two weren't already gaping at him, Sirris squawked along.

"Yes, rather shabby, I have to say." The werewolf thought out loud, almost certainly stroking at his jaw if he knew him well enough and the soft sound of grinding sandpaper was anything to go by. "Do you not receive reinforcements or supplies? It appears as though you may be in need of relief."

_Yup. You're fucked._

"Okay, so, I'm glad to see nobody's shooting, let's try to keep it that way, huh?" Phoenix wheezed timorously, stepping between the NCR officer and the two Argonians, arms spread out as if to stop eventual bullets. "Yeah, I... know this is the most random and unexpected thing that could've ever happened, sir, but lemme explain." She gestured woodenly behind her back. "Major Polatli, these are Eyes-Of-Silver and Keram-Rei. And the deathclaw's Eyes-Of-Silver's pet." Her shoulders sagged a little. "And, as I said, we were kinda hoping you could... help us find a friend?"

Sirris cawed and took a less predatory stance, pleased to be mentioned no doubt. Eyes-Of-Silver gave a nonchalant bow, while Keram-Rei merely swallowed. There were so, _so_ many ways this could go wrong... at least the soldier in the back was frozen solid in fright and in no way able to shoot, and the woman was unarmed save for the microphone she'd grabbed and held in both hands.

The Major ran his thumb and forefinger down his dark chestnut mustache to calm himself – while his other hand rested on the grip of the pistol at his hip. His brown eyes rapidly darted between the Argonians, the deathclaw and the girl for several seconds before he found the courage to speak. "You... the reports from McCarran and the Strip..." He stopped caressing his mustache and glared greatswords in their direction. "Wait a minute, the Freeside reports say you're terrorists!"

Boone raised a quizzical brow at that, showing clear interest in something for the first time since they had met him. "You're terrorists?"

Keram-Rei let out a stunned snort. What the fuck was this guy talking about? _Terrorists?_ Was Ambassador Crocker's head so far up his ass that nobody had understood his words? While Eyes-Of-Silver's growls were about to be turned into action, he snapped first. "No we're not, that's-"

_Bullshit?_

"_Complicated._" Phoenix took over from him, throwing a scowl over her shoulder that shouted 'just shut up and let me smooth things over'. He bit down on his next words and kept on fuming silently. Terrorists... "It's a damn mess, so how do we start... okay, first off, we saved First Recon from the Fiends. Then, one way or another, we all defended Camp McCarran when the Fiends attacked, either by actually staying there and fighting or hunting down a Fiend leader." She paused to clack her tongue, most likely to choose her next words with care. "What happened in Freeside... we're not really responsible for it, actually. Well, _nobody_ here is. You see, one of us started helping around Freeside, and... she got in good terms with the Kings and the Followers, and when an NCR platoon slau- _attacked_ civilians there, she... sort of lost it." She raised her hands in surrender before both Keram-Rei and Polatli could bark in outrage at her. "I know it's not an excuse, sir, but when it comes to this sort of things she's as emotional as a deathclaw on her period, and-"

"Deathclaws are reptiles." Eyes-Of-Silver grumbled crossly, arms folded across his chest. "Menstruation only occurs in mammals."

Keram-Rei couldn't help but turn his head and stare at him. How- no, wait. That wasn't a... _normal_ thing to know. Whatever a 'menstruation cycle' was, he wasn't too sure anyone really needed to possess that sort of knowledge in their lives. "How... how in Oblivion do you even _know_ that?"

"I study the functioning and inner workings of _everything_, Keram-Rei, that's what I do as bloody pastime activity." Eyes-Of-Silver huffed out sottovoce, as to not further disturb the girl's tale. He stared at the ceiling for a moment, and started giggling. "Ah, pardon the pun, that was entirely-"

Phoenix coughed out loud to wrest their attention again. "_Anyway_, point is, we're not gonna hurt you because we... don't do that kind of stuff, we're cool with NCR most of the time, sir." She explained, shrugging. She must have been smiling persuasively as a puppy as she sucked air in through her teeth. "We can, uhm... help around the base if you need anything, so you can trust us again and hand over that intel we've asked for so nicely five minutes ago and you were just about to give us? Please?"

He could tell from the look on his face that the Major had been dizzied by... well, every single word they had said. Couldn't blame him, to be honest: first two kids accompanied by a veteran popped up at his secluded military base asking for absurd information, then two Argonians and a deathclaw swung by and one of the kids was forced to tell their tale so that everything clicked together in the most absurd way possible. By Akatosh, no wonder he was that dazed. The redhead wasn't faring much better; she'd dropped the microphone she was holding, letting it clang loudly to the ground. The lone trooper had given up any hope of understanding, and merely limited himself to leaning against a desk and watching.

"I... see." Major Polatli ultimately deadpanned as his brain refused to cope with the volume and kind of information it had received. He shifted his weight on his feet and took on a defensive stance. "What if I'm still unconvinced and I don't _want_ to help you?"

"Well, there's five of us and three or four of you, and aside from Boone... you've got no bullets, the place is undermanned, and the rest of the base's morale is rock-bottom." Phoenix provided. She accompanied the words with a gesture that plainly said she could've gone on, and she definitely would have. "We've got a deathclaw, a bloodthirsty son of a bitch big as one and twice as mean who's got a pair of axes and a flamethrower, a very skilled and verydetermined swordsman with a shotgun, a girl who's not bragging when she says she's a pretty good shot with this here rifle, and a..." She glanced over at Follows-Chalk for a moment or two. "A guy with a club. That'd be a pretty dumb move, sir."

The tribal boy puffed his chest and set his jaw. "Hey, I am a warrior!"

Phoenix rolled her eyes. "Alright, a _touchy_ guy with a club."

Polatli pursed his lips. He shot the redhead a glance; he received a fierce nod as a reply. Slapping a palm on his face in utter defeat, he waved them off with his free hand, and sighed. "Fine, we're too desperate to refuse help, and I'm not stupid enough to get us all killed over a piece of paper... there's one thing you could help with." His hand dropped with another exhalation. "We lost track of a shipment a few days back, and it's two weeks until the next one. We don't have that long: we're starving and we've hardly got any bullets to fire. Talk to Quartermaster Mayes for details – straight outside, fifth shack on the right... but we're keeping an eye on you." His eyes went for the soldier by the desk. "Jenkins! You're with the deathclaw and the... other deathclaw, get Williams and Alenko to help you. Now quit slacking and move your ass!"

The trooper jumped to his feet, hands fumbling to both get his rifle and salute at the same time. He began to gingerly walk towards Eyes-Of-Silver, but one coo from Sirris was more than enough to stop him dead in his tracks. She sniffed his face as she leaned forwards, and blew his hair back with a snort. She faced Eyes-Of-Silver, her head tilted curiously, and questioned him with a whine.

"Ah, 'tis all right, Sirris, he shall accompany us on our endeavour..." Eyes-Of-Silver told his deathclaw – who cawed an affirmative in return. In the meantime, he shielded Jenkins from his pet with his ebony arm, and pulled the tent's flap open with the flesh and bone one. He smiled down on the terrified young man. "Worry not, neither of us shall bite you! She knows you are not to be eaten... and besides, you are far too skinny for my liking."

_He's in for a ride, isn't he?_

_Yeah, he is. _Keram-Rei couldn't help but feel sorry for the poor guy. Trapped between Eyes-Of-Silver and Sirris and squeaking in horror as he was taken out of the tent... he somehow doubted the other two could've been of any help whatsoever. They weren't going to be eaten of course, the werewolf was sort of picky in that regard, but the thought of someone being forced to stay with Eyes-Of-Silver and his pint-sized wingless Dragon for any length of time... oh boy. He didn't envy them in the slightest, that was for damn sure.

"They're gonna be back in no time, trust me on that, sir." Phoenix reassured... everyone, basically. While he could tell the big guy's awful jokes apart, none of the others in there knew him well enough to. "Meanwhile, is there any way I could... you know, give a hand around here?"

"Well, you could try with the medical quarters, Dr. Richards could use some help." The redhead answered. Now that the biggest threats to the base's safety were gone, she relaxed visibly. "It's the one with the red cross by the entrance, can't miss it."

Phoenix nodded her thanks and went for the exit, shadowed by Follows-Chalk as always. Man, that guy was as subtle as a troll... and the girl was as blind as a Falmer if she didn't notice any of it. They were both clumsier than him, and that was saying something. They set out to meet with this Dr. Richards, see what he may need and possibly make his life easier. Couldn't have taken much effort to join them, maybe employ his magic and potions to ease the wounded and dying's pain. He wasn't the best, but his Restoration skills put him on par with any well-equipped field medic; if he'd gotten the shtick of Forlorn Hope right, though, he somehow doubted this guy was anywhere near well-equipped. He could go there, save lives...

_The NCR doesn't know you've got motherfucking magic, and those troopers are gonna start talking. Think about it._

... And also blow their cover and get another interrogation from Camp McCarran's high command. Yeah, right. Nah, Boone was a good enough replacement, he was sure. At a subtle motion from the Major, the sniper followed the two kids without uttering a single word.

As much as it pained him to think so, Phoenix, Follows-Chalk and Boone were going to be all the medical assistance those soldiers would be seeing. Keram-Rei walked back to one of the desks, shook the pile of documents off of the chair, and sat down on it. Sure, a bit of maneuvering was required in order to make his tail, sword and shotgun fit without breaking a bone or shooting his horns off, but he ultimately managed to succeed.

Arms folded and legs crossed, he smirked at the remaining NCR personnel. "While they're out there doing something for you, I'm here showing you it's all in good faith. You don't trust my friends, plain as day, so I might as well act as insurance and stay here." He gestured at himself. "They fuck up, you've got me. Sounds like a fair deal, right?"

Major Polatli and the woman of unspecified rank exchanged a glance. In the end, they both shrugged and took a seat, their eyes never leaving him. It was as though they were afraid he could pull off some magic trick they could do nothing to prevent. Which was true, but they didn't need to know that. Now, if only they stopped staring at him, then maybe his time there would be less unnerving.

_Come on, you've got _me_! We're gonna have a lot of fun together._

He all but groaned out loud. Fuck, he hoped Eyes-Of-Silver was quick...

* * *

Fifteen minutes. Not even remotely _close_ to quick.

Fifteen minutes had passed before the damned werewolf returned. After the first thirty seconds, the redhead – who had revealed herself to be a certain 'Tech Sergeant Reyes' – had returned to her position, headset and all. At the five minutes mark, the Major had given up and gone to the grand table to plan out some strategy or another, muttering negatives to himself every once in a while.

Keram-Rei had absolutely no way of killing time that didn't involve those two asking a lot of questions. He might have tried to engage in conversation, but that too would have prompted an interrogation after the first... three sentences. Reading a book? Out of the question, he should've pulled it out of a satchel half as long as a normal tome, and that was bound to attract unwanted attention. Drinking? Same as before, and he couldn't even get drunk, no point in that. Magical training? Out of the fucking question. Singing or listening to music? Too shy for that. Treads-In-Gloom...? Oh, not in a million years.

_Hey, fuck you._

So he'd sat there, staring at the waving ceiling, until someone threw the entrance flap open.

"The supplies have been successfully recovered and delivered to Quartermaster Mayes, whereas the original retrieval team had been eliminated by a band of legionaries." Eyes-Of-Silver panted out his announcement, his tongue lolling out between his teeth, disturbingly similar to a dog's. To no one's surprise, what was left of his chestplate, his hands and his mouth were drenched in blood, as were Sirris's teeth and snout. "I have personally carried the three soldiers to the medical tent as, while not injured, they appear to be in shock."

He guessed whatever had shocked those troopers must have been roughly as tall and broad as the werewolf, roaring in righteous fury and in an incomprehensible accent as he splintered bones and feasted on the flesh of the fallen. He didn't say it out loud. Wouldn't want to scar the Major for life.

Not ten seconds passed before Phoenix, Follows-Chalk and Boone returned. The sniper was as impassive as always, but the girl and the boy definitely looked a bit green around the gills, almost nauseously swaying on their feet. Well, they had chosen to help in a medical tent, what had they been expecting? All three of them had their hands stained a dark shade of crimson, and none of them said anything – either by taciturn nature, or to avoid puking their guts out. Judging by Boone's satisfied smirk, though, things must have gone rather well.

Keram-Rei rose to his feet with a relieved sigh. Oh, thank all _fuck_ he could finally go out and look for Screaming-Eagle with precise information. He ignored Major Polatli's disgusted expression and walked up to him by the table, both of his hands held behind his back. "Well, Major, we've been of help and we've kept our word." He extended his palm and tapped his fingers on it. "Time to cash up."

Polatli's diffident sneer suggested he might have wanted to further delay them, but one scowl from Reyes and a look to the bloodied Eyes-Of-Silver and Sirris were more than enough to change his mind. He grabbed a piece of paper from the edge of the table and handed it to Keram-Rei with a nod. "The Republic thanks you for your service..." He narrowed his eyes on him. "Now, if you would be so kind as to leave Camp Forlorn Hope, I have a base to run."

"With pleasure." Keram-Rei grinned wryly. Ripping the scrap of paper from the man's hand, he went back to the exit and motioned for his companions to get out. Once they were all outside of the command tent, he looked down at the prized intel, and...

Frowned.

Phoenix excitedly peeked over his shoulder, her previous queasiness gone at the sight of their reward. "What's it say? What's it say? What's- wait, what does _that_ mean?"

_Okay, even I don't know what that's supposed to mean. Must be a... code, or... something._

"It's... random numbers." Keram-Rei reflected, much to everyone's disappointment. He stared at the endless twin streaks of numbers, one starting with 'X' and the other with 'Y', interspersed with a few apostrophes and a couple of small circles. He glowered at the note scrabbled beneath them in the messiest handwriting he had ever seen.

_Here Pvt. Stone saw a humanoid figure riding a flaming ghost after a woman shouted something and the sandstorm fell. Said she'd entered a ravine and vanished inside; he came back running for his life. He stopped doing drugs ever since. Shouldn't be hard to find on the girl's Pip-Boy._

Boone unceremoniously stole the piece of paper and his left forearm. He rifled through the menus, ended up on the satellite display and, staring at the numbers as though they were a treasure map to decipher, he started turning the knobs. Too surprised to interrupt him, the battlemage allowed him to keep doing... whatever it was he was doing. It seemed like meticulous work.

"Coordinates." The sniper grunted out to the unspoken question hanging in the air, a hint of smugness tinging his voice. Once he was done, he tapped his index finger in the middle of the screen. "Whoever you're looking for is there."

Keram-Rei tried to make any sense of what had just happened – then noticed the numbers on the message and those on the bottom right corner of his map matched perfectly. He wasn't going to question whatever magic Boone had worked, there were far more important matters to attend to.

The pointer on his Pip-Boy's screen hovered somewhere in the middle of nowhere, roughly South-East of their current position. Precisely halfway between Camp Forlorn Hope and what his map identified as a small town called Nelson.

Well, now the rough estimate had gone down from a few square miles to search to a precise location, a ravine at... those numbers. It wasn't an uncommon sight that side of the Mojave, but that narrowed the field considerably. They had gained one man on the way here, more accurate coordinates, and the confirmation Screaming-Eagle had indeed been there. A feminine shout that had dispelled a sandstorm (possibly the one the Greybeards called 'Clear Skies'), a figure riding what sounded suspiciously like Arvak... it couldn't be anyone else.

Wherever she was, he was coming for her.


	38. Blood Eagle

Thunder boomed with implacable rage – yet not up in the churning skies, no. Detonations rang out near the Villa, by the base of the endless stairway. Hints of orange and blue glimmered hundreds of feet below, swallowed by the vitriolic fog as soon as they appeared. It seemed the locals had tried to give pursuit, as the mutant had predicted, yet without much success. Lightning and fire runes blocked their path, blasted the creatures to shreds as soon as they set foot on them. Even though the bodies of their kin were burned and shocked to ashes and cinders, the mindless brutes relentlessly kept on going. At this rate, it would have been quite a while until the remaining beasts caught up with their prey, atop the hills. If any at all remained, that was.

Far above those abominations, the crimson mist of the Cloud slithered through the wrought-iron fence of the casino, wafting along the wary breeze like tendrils of blood and poison. All signs of plant life had long since rotted away, terracotta vases, dirt pools and fossilized tree trunks the only signs of their presence to that day. Everything, from the tiles on the ground to the broken benches, was covered in a veneer of crimson sludge much thicker than that of the ghost town. Even the air seemed to be less breathable at the end of the winding path, heavier, harder to see through. And yet the place had been conserved, unscathed, no different from the timeless Nedic ruins preserved by the snows of Skyrim and never to be kissed by the sun again. Teeming with monsters from an age long past, filled to the brim with treacherous traps, and sought after by adventurers following the legends of grand treasures... yes, this place was just as loathsome as those barbarians' necropolises, if not more.

Screaming-Eagle raised her eyes to better gaze at the Sierra Madre's ominous tower. As if on cue, lightning flashed red, silhouetting the bulky form of the building. It was hard to spot anything of the facade other than red shit clinging to the walls and windows. Its sight elicited similar reactions from the party, various degrees of determination and hatred. Hers far surpassed those of the others, no doubt; she was far too proud to let any of them hate the old man more than her.

She burrowed her nails into her palms as though she were holding her staff, and cursed under her breath when she remembered it was no longer with her, stashed away in some forgotten bunker along with her robes and satchels and _everything_. Oh, she'd be back to the Mojave soon enough, she merely needed to sink her teeth into the old man's throat and bleed him dry, feel his life fade away in her jaws, rip his heart out and feast-

She grimaced in disgust. She wasn't a cannibal, nor a vampire, _nor_ a werewolf. That was... wrong. Still, just about three quarters of what she had witnessed in this little piece of hell were even wronger. She supposed her mind was simply... adapting to the situation. This was not the place, and especially not the time, to question her own sanity. Besides, the old fucker deserved all that, no arguing about it.

"Oh, bloody hell, I still can't believe you're closed!" Dean Domino ranted to the entrance, half-concealed by the Cloud. "Just when I'm so close... bah, fuck it. You're not going to open thanks to my soothing voice, that's for sure."

"It appears you are right in one regard, _showman_." The super mutant grumbled in reply. "Your ceaseless whining _is_ of no aid in the matter."

Loosening the kinks in her neck and back, she started towards the motley crew she had assembled. In no possible way she would have ever agreed to staying with those people, yet she had been forced to. Were they of any help? Well... technically, she wouldn't have gotten anywhere without them. Information and ammo, silence and support, concoction and outlet for stress... they had all contributed in one way or another. Come to think of it, she would have died hadn't it been for those three. That didn't excuse them for acting like overbearing sons of whores, or having repeatedly insulted her. Or not being able to say anything in her defense.

The moment she halted few feet from them, the old singer retreated behind Twelve without so much as a word; as for the woman herself, she... might have rolled her eyes. Hard to tell in that sea of red, it was already a lot if she could distinguish vague shadows and shapes and guess who or what they were. Noticing the mutant fold his arms and grunt was, thanks to his size and the theatricality with which he moved, quite easy. She didn't wait long or ask them anything, didn't need to, didn't want to. She went on, up to what had to be the entrance to the casino. Under normal circumstances, it should have been a few panels of wood, or glass, or stained steel.

Unsurprisingly, what stood before her was a set of heavy blast doors. Probably thick as her shoulders, possibly designed to resist a high-yield bomb. Certainly a pain in the ass to get rid of, especially with her power steadily receding.

Screaming-Eagle set her feet wide apart, ready to call upon every last scrap of magic left in her. Her fingers clawed at the air straight in front of her, arms extended and knuckles scraping together as though she were trying to slip her nails in through a fissure. She closed her eyes to better focus on her target. From a quick analysis, she deduced that wall was going to be hard as shit to punch through. It really was as thick as she was broad, and she hadn't the faintest idea what alloy had been used in its construction. One thing was sure, though: it had been built to be virtually indestructible.

Hmph. Nothing was indestructible, not if she had a say in it.

She started to pull aside, rip the two sections apart like a cabinet's doors. Her hands barely moved; whatever it had been made of, the damn thing was _hard_. She redoubled her efforts with a strained grunt, growled in unison with the metal's low moan, leaned against it to pour all her strength into it. She sensed the metal begin to bend and so she lashed out at the doors, took advantage of their weakness as they buckled and groaned under her assault. This thing could have kept a whole army out, but not her. Oh, no, if her revenge awaited beyond that, then there was no fucking way in Oblivion a simple slab of gods-damn metal could stand in her way!

With a last, savage scream echoed by the failing metal's squeal, the doors finally gave in. Two pieces of sludge-covered steel, or whatever the fuck that was, slammed into the ground with force enough to make her lose her balance and stumble to one knee. A gust of venomous wind reached her a moment later, just as she was attempting to draw in a deep breath and recover. She nearly retched her own lungs out. All of her muscles had gone numb as a result of her exertion, and she was certain she had thrown away more than half of her Magicka reserve just by doing that. There were going to be physical repercussions to her rash gesture in the long run, she knew it.

None of that was important. Now the way to the old man was clear, that was all that mattered. She only had to find him, wrap her fingers around his neck and squeeze tighter and tighter until the veins stopped pulsing, until his breathing faded away, until his eyes glazed over...

A gentle tap on her shoulder snapped her out of those charming visions. She glanced to her left only to meet Twelve's... well, not-easy-to-decipher face. She supposed the mute woman must have been concerned. Further ahead the Nightkin firmly held a wriggling Dean Domino by the wrist, both of them halfway up the small set of stairs leading into the casino. She had a feeling they were all staring at her, waiting for her permission to move lest she ripped them to shreds if they didn't obey.

Screaming-Eagle dismissed the three with a wave of her hand. "You... you go first, I'm right behind you."

Now, she hadn't really been expecting any of them to refuse, but the speed at which they heeded her words disarmed her. Were they seriously that ready to leave her to fuck off in order to kick the doors open and rush inside? Was their greed or wish for vengeance that strong? They weren't her friends, and probably never would be – but _come on_, they could've had the decency to at least feign interest in her conditions. Nope, they all vanished into the doorframe at once, gone into the light of the entry hall and leaving her alone in the Cloud, and with whatever else might have lurked in it. Not that much of anything could have lurked outside, since it sounded like the local monsters were still busy blowing themselves up two at a time, but the thought irked her nonetheless.

Exactly five seconds passed before she heard three distinct, heavy thuds come from the hall.

She hauled herself up to her feet with a self-satisfied chuckle. Well, on the bright side, that saved her some time. She had never had the faintest intention of taking part in a repeat of how she had found herself in the Sierra Madre in the first place, nor to spend more minutes than necessary convincing them to go first. She would have never been so foolish as to be the first to step inside, oh no, those three were just perfect for that. No thanks, she was much better off with unwilling baits triggering the casino's security systems for her and letting her in undisturbed.

"Thanks for proving me right..." She muttered sardonically, climbing the last remaining steps with little trouble. The interior's glow wasn't as intense as she'd have imagined, the room was actually quite dark – yet the light sufficed.

The air inside was clean. Although reddish pollution had inevitably begun to seep in through every crack and cranny, she closed the door behind her back nonetheless. She reckoned the place would stay habitable for another hour or two at best. A shame, really, the thought of oxblood gook covering all those colorful tiles and mosaics was bound to make her sad for... the next minute or something. So many motifs crisscrossed the floor, walls and even ceilings, ceramics of all colors and shapes bringing flowers, waves and clouds to life in the dead casino. A curved stairway opened into an upper floor and balconies, to doors leading to a theater and suites, while on her level were doorways to the casino proper and a restaurant. Everywhere she turned her head she saw lozenges, stripes, chevrons, crosses, spirals, concentric circles, geometric shapes – all in oranges, blues, reds, yellows, greens, whites... oh, wonderful, so much more than that tawdry Ultra-Luxe...

Well, of course, there had been no dusty skeletons desperately clawing at the entrance or reaching for the dried pool at the Ultra-Luxe. These must have been the original guests of the Sierra Madre, all those poor bastards who had been locked inside when the War had broken out. They had died of thirst or hunger, no doubt... well, if the rusty revolver clutched in the phalanxes of one and the hole in the owner's skull was anything to go by, perhaps someone had given up earlier than that. Hard to blame them, she'd nearly taken that route herself.

On the other hand, the new guests were all on display right before her eyes: Twelve, propped against a railing with her head lolling on her chest, scarred features inscrutable as ever as she held her shotgun close; Dean Domino, laying face-first into a smashed ribcage, his fingers limp against an attached femur as though it were a club he'd just let go of; the Nightkin, sprawled on his back and twitching in his sleep, reflecting the endless conflict waged by his mind unto itself.

Screaming-Eagle blew a snort to all three of them. Well-deserved. Nothing personal, of course – save for the ghoul and partially for the mutant, those she was glad had fallen into a trap. 'Focus on everything', 'you're an idiot', 'see here, watch there'... hmph, yeah, foolproof method.

She caught a whiff of the gas. Much of it had already dispersed in the air, but she recognized the same white, odorless shit that had numbed all of her senses back in that bunker. Predictable, really, and now completely ineffective. It only got her to scowl at the hidden vents directly overhead and yawn.

She stepped past the three and into the main hall, gently pushing aside one of the skeletons on the fountain, which came undone on the tiles in a puff of dust and bone splinters. Once she had made sure no shard of elder guest might have pierced her scales, she sat down onto the rim and sighed. She hadn't had a seat in... way too long. No resting until she got the fucker, sure, but there wasn't anything she could do here. Now it was all a matter of waiting for the old man to come out of hiding and get in through that door...

* * *

_Click-clack. Thump. Thump._

Screaming-Eagle cursed at the sound and instinctively summoned flame, a wild spark dancing on her open palm. She winced at how such a small thing could sear her scales. Dammit, she should've had more time before the potion's effects began to fade... no matter. That noise had been real enough to her, muffled and hidden, yet... the entrance was still closed. Where had it come from, then?

She rose to her feet, hands joined together to control her fire; to anyone else, it might have looked as though she were holding a pistol. If that noise hadn't come from the broad wooden doors, then... she couldn't say. The echo was too distorted for her to pinpoint. It might have originated from downstairs as well as upstairs, outside or inside. Good, she'd found a not-answer for the first question, now for the second: who was it? Couldn't have been a local, she had placed way too many runes on the way there for one to accidentally slip by and go around the only entrance of the building. Her party? No, all of them were still unconscious. Could it be that-

The mosaic behind the fountain whirred. Facing about with a puzzled frown, she met the image of a businessman and a woman in a cream dress holding hands. Beneath them were the words 'Begin again', while... some kind of goddess or angel oversaw the scene, a torch in one hand and what to her looked like a giant feather in the other. The picture neatly slid back into the wall, then to the side, revealing a form standing in the darkness beyond. She could see little of it, even by squinting hard enough to make her eyes hurt.

A man emerged from the perfectly square hole in the wall. He was clad in deep blue robes reaching down to his black boots, the thick fabric ruined and discolored by the passing of time. The two shades of midnight and ocean, separated by gray hems and lines, clashed with the white-silvery hair and beard falling down below his sternum like the mane of the classic, stereotypical wizard. The staff he was supposed to lean against, though, was replaced by a jury-rigged rifle, a mishmash of an energy weapon and an older firearm. Tubes and wires coiled around the grooved barrel, topped by a rectangular scope pulsing with soft blue light – as opposed to the hardwood stock and grip, the shotgun forestock and the trigger guard. What truly struck her the were his eyes, though: hard as steel and set in an ancient face, so wrinkled and flat as to remind her of a... an...

An ugly, bearded, evil-looking pug.

To his credit, he didn't share the same dumbfounded expression of a pug. He never lost his composure and stood perfectly straight, his examining glare fixed entirely on her - just like his hologram over the Villa's fountain. He took in all of her features in a heartbeat, as she had done with him, and held his weapon aloft. "So it was true, the gate, the entrance, without the Gala... I had to see with my eyes, _had to_." He growled gruffly, his hands trembling not from age, but anger. "How did you do it?"

"Uh... wait, you're the old man?" Screaming-Eagle managed. To say she was disappointed in the extreme was putting it mildly. At least he held true to his nickname, but... damn. He certainly didn't appear to feel his eighty or more (totally more) years, yet she hadn't imagined him to be _that_ old. "I thought-"

"It doesn't matter what you thought, answer me!" The old man snarled from across the fountain, thrusting his rifle forward like a spear to threaten her. It... kind of didn't work that well, she still couldn't cope with the fact a decrepit mummy had ruined her life. She had been expecting some grand villain in a power suit, or maybe a muscular martial arts master given his age... even him, but with an army at his beck and call, would have been more fitting. This guy... well, he was... disappointing. A bit crazy-looking, too. She didn't like the way his eyes bulged in his sockets and a web of veins stood out against his thin skin. "How did you do it? Years, _years_ of work, of preparation, to trigger the Gala once more, unlock the Madre again... and you waltz in like a _ballerina_! You... you held your promise, minutes... how, how, how?" He was furious, yet... immensely fascinated with her. "_HOW?!_"

Screaming-Eagle opened her mouth to answer him, and immediately thought better of it. The old man... he was there, finally. A mere twelve feet and a circle of tiles and concrete were all that stood between her and revenge. She was wasting her time, she had to murder him. The weapon was a secondary problem; it appeared to be similar to the one she had been issued when she had just woken up, the one she had never once fired. Gods knew what it could do to her if it struck. Still... he had no idea what she could do, didn't he? He didn't believe in magic, he was never going to even if she told him.

Her fingernails dug deep enough into her hands to sting, her fangs bared, her feathers bristling, her eyes narrowed. The bastard didn't deserve an answer. He had forfeited his every right to exist by setting up his little bait in the Mojave. He was nothing more than a parasite to purge and kill, a cancer to rip out and crush. He was nothing, _nothing_. A dead man walking. He had signed his own death warrant the moment the collar had closed around her neck. All for one, simple reason.

He had fucked with her.

That didn't change the fact he was holding her at gunpoint. She didn't go so far as to raise her hands in surrender, that would've been pathetic... and it would have allowed him to notice her faint gestures. By holding her hands down, he might have mistaken the twitches for rage, or frustration. She just needed a few more seconds to make sure her magic was still strong enough to pull that trick off...

He wasn't going to be thrown off easily, didn't look like an idiot... but he certainly was full of himself. The fact he had come down to see her personally was a testament to that, so she had to goad him for time. She sneered contemptuously and spread her arms out. "I told you. I just had a better plan."

"Of course, a better plan..." The old man snorted. His posture didn't change one bit, he still aimed straight at her heart and flashed his teeth like an angry dog. "You had nothing with you, _nothing_! The Gala never went off, you bypassed it, all of you... walked straight through the gate, straight through the blast doors, _here_. Impossible." He shook his head in denial. "Completely impossible, there were no shaped charges, no explosives, nothing for you to find... nothing the others could help with, I know them all too well! Better than anyone else, I have analyzed them them during their stay. No, no, no, this means..." His lids became as narrow as loopholes, arrows ready to pierce through her as readily as his rifle. "You! _You_ did it. It _has_ to be you. Answer me, lizard! How?"

"It's easy." Screaming-Eagle whispered, her voice colder than an ice shiv. That was the last time the old motherfucker was ever going to call her _lizard_. "Magic, that's how."

Before he had a chance to laugh in her face, she joined her hands together and yanked down. His weapon harmlessly clattered to the ground, and was then thrown aside with another swift flick of her wrist. Judging by the way he transfixed her, motionless, he was going to stay put and astonished for no more than a few instants, then he'd reach for his gun and kill her. Had she been thinking more clearly, she would have restrained him, pinned him into the wall while she effortlessly tore him apart with magic. Safe, secure, and infinitely more level-headed.

Too bad level-headed had never been part of her plan. Not nearly as satisfying.

Screaming-Eagle jumped over the dried, shallow fountain, took a single running step in his direction and pounced on him. They both fell and rolled to the ground, but she came out on top. He was driven by survival instinct and rationality, she by rage and hatred. He had ruined her, turned her into a tool, taken every ounce of dignity she had left in herself and turned it all to wrath and hatred. That collar was a permanent reminder of it. It was with a cruel smile that her fingers found purchase on his throat, under the beard, over the loathsome pulse of his veins, against the vibration of his breaths. Her ruby red orbs never left his steely ones as she tightened her grip. She planted her knees and legs on his chest to hold him down. He would wheeze his last staring straight at her, and she would see him die, die, _die_...

She didn't notice the punch until it had already connected with her jaw. Dazed and confused, it wasn't hard for him to shove her off and into the fountain's hard edge. Her mind reeled at the two impacts, but the noise of fabric scraping on the floor snapped her straight out of the fog clouding her thoughts. She dove forwards and snatched the bastard's ankle, dragged him farther away from his gun with a strength she'd never thought she possessed and bit down onto his calf, _hard_.

The old man shouted in pain and kicked, hitting her straight in the horn with the free foot – but she didn't let go, _couldn't_ let go, he had to _suffer_. Screaming-Eagle ripped a chunk of old flesh out from his leg and spat it out. She ignored the iron taste of blood dripping down her fangs, pouring onto her gorget, and kept on hauling him towards her, until-

One of his hands grabbed her by the feathers. She let out an anguished shriek and clutched at his forearm with both arms, trying to break it in half or at the very least _free her fucking feathers_. He didn't relent, he twisted her around by gripping her horn with his free hand, let go of her quills, and locked her head in the crook of his elbow. He applied more and more pressure to his hold, made the collar press hard against her scales, cut her squawks down to gasps. She couldn't breathe, she couldn't breathe, she needed air, air, _air_... he had to let her go... she punched, kicked, to no avail... his forearm, so close... maybe... had to try...

Screaming-Eagle threw her head back like a whip and sank her teeth into his robe and flesh. Blood gushed from the wound, his grip loosened – but she kept on mauling his arm despite his shouts. Her fangs scraped against the bone, ichor flooded her mouth.

A punch to the nape of her head forced her to let go. She smacked her glistening snout into the cold tiles of the floor, her own blood added to the growing pool on the ground. She recovered, rolled on her back, and saw him screech to the ceiling. He couldn't take hold of both his arm and his leg at the same time, so he rolled up into a ball to present as little of a target as possible... or deceive her.

She narrowly avoided the kick aimed at her forehead, shouldered the leg aside, and pounded his guts once, twice, thrice, until he abandoned the offensive and wrapped his arms around his soft belly. Slamming her elbow into his crotch for good measure, she panted and grinned broadly as she crawled up to his face. He grimaced, shut his eyes in agony, howled, stared wide-eyed at the roof. Oh, he was suffering alright. He'd better be ready for more.

Her first punch smashed straight into his teeth. The strength of the blow shook her up to the shoulders, the dampness of blood and spittle coated her knuckles, the faint ache dulled to heat by adrenaline. She struck again, this time his nose, staining his silvery beard and mustache crimson, hearing the loud crack of something breaking. Might have been her finger, she didn't care, she was _loving it_. Inflicting pain on a helpless sack of shit... it made her feel _alive_.

By the third hit, she had started to smirk; the fourth cut a brow open, deep scarlet oozing down onto his eye. This was beautiful, _beautiful_. This was just the beginning of the pain she would cause him. With the fifth blow, to the chin, mighty thumps echoed those of her fists. By the sixth punch on his cheek, an enormous shadow loomed over her. She let out a half-raging, half-ecstatic scream and her right fist crashed into the old bastard's throat, causing him to hack and cough weakly. There, he couldn't move, he was still and quiet enough not to go for his gun again. Problem solved, for a while.

Drenched in blood, she turned to the mutant with a maniacal giggle. She couldn't see his face, but she bet his rictus had taken on a pleased note at the sight of the old man's conditions. "Oh, you wanna have some fun, too?" She went on snickering, running an unconscious hand over her thigh as he leaned forwards. "He's all yours, just gimme a-"

The Nightkin grabbed her by the neck and flung her against the farthest wall.

For one second, just one, she felt weightless. Surprise, anger, betrayal, indignation chased themselves in her heart during the course of that single second.

Then she collided with a flowery mosaic.

All the air was driven from her lungs as she bounced off and into the hard floor. Everything hurt like Oblivion. The only things on her vision were a colorless blur and dancing stars, while the only thing on her mind was a screamed curse she couldn't voice. Cold air forced its way down her nostrils, her trachea, her bronchi, burning her from the inside out. What came out of her mouth was nothing more than a dragged out rasp.

The erratic, earth-shaking footsteps of the mutant made an alarm bell ring at once inside of her brain. What little awareness she could call upon was aimed onto the hunched form of Dog, glowering down at her, snarling and slobbering like the animal he was. Panicking, she curled her fingers in a quick Restoration spell. Immediately her breathing came easier, the agony in her bones and muscles receded to a mere throbbing. She drunkenly pushed herself up-

Again, Dog's enormous hand clasped around her throat, crushing her windpipe and arteries under an iron grip and her collar's steel frame. No matter how hard she punched at his forearm, how much she tried to turn her neck and bite him – he was too strong, held too... tight. The only thing she could do was... try and use Restoration, make sure she could... survive as long as she could breathe... and ease the pain in her joints in case he... let go...

"YOU HURT MASTER!" The beast bellowed in her face; at least she was being choked, and the wave of his fetid breath had little effect on her... much too focused on not dying at the moment. His hold around her collar tightened, causing the last gasp she was storing to escape her lips. "NOW YOU DIE! I KILL YOU AND EAT YOU AND-"

Spasms racked him. As he let go of her and stepped back, she massaged her abused neck and drew in deep lungfuls of air. Immediately she put as much distance as she could between herself and the crazed thing, flickering specks of golden light restoring her throat and body as best as they could. He let out an ear-splitting cry, clutched at the sides of his head as though they were about to come apart. His features were now much more human, his only eye reflecting his torment, his grimace desperate.

"Stay away!" The Nightkin warned her. He viciously shook his head, fingertips digging in his bald scalp. "Dog! He has taken control, I... argh! I cannot hold him back for long, he is-"

"ANGRY!" Dog hollered, his eye alight with primal hate. He let go of his head and started towards her, yelling incoherently and beating on his chest. "YOU PUT DOG IN CAGE! YOU TRAP HIM, YOU FRIEND WITH VOICE! YOU-"

"Must stop us!" The saner side pleaded her, drawing himself to a halt against his own will. "Use your magic, outsmart him, do _something_!"

"Easier said than done!" Screaming-Eagle shouted back, her voice cracking with fear, or annoyance, or possibly both. With her body now functioning correctly and her Magicka all but spent, she hardly had enough power left in her to cast a fireball – restraining the mutant required ten times that! Her eyes darted around for any possible escape; to her right was the exit, to her left the fountain, behind her twenty feet of open space and a solid wall. Fuck, fuck, _fuck_! Why was he having that fucking crisis just now, of all times? "Keep him down, I'll... I'll think of something!"

"VOICE NO HEAR YOU!" Dog replied viciously, prowling towards her, almost on all fours. He drooled and panted like a rabid dog and brought his fist back to strike. "NOW DOG GET YOU AND YOU-"

"Have to think fast!" The Nightkin snorted at her, managing to choose the most appropriate moment to sound as vexed as though she had just missed a speaker and her collar had beeped. He swung at the air and turned, swaying on his feet like a drunkard. He stepped in the opposite direction and made an attempt to stride back. "You have no idea how hard it is for me to-"

"KILL!" Dog yelled as he twirled around. He showed all of his rotting teeth, wild as an animal. "KILL, KILL, KILL!"

Screaming-Eagle's nerves were too frayed for her to even run a hand through her feathers. She could... no, he was too close to the main entrance, no running outside. Her breath quickened like a hare's – oh, if only her legs were coiled springs! Magically patched up though she may be, she didn't have wings. If she backpedaled any more, she was going to hit a wall, and she was done for. That only left the fountain... yes, the fountain! The old man's gun was there!

She caught a glimpse of a soft blue glow on gray metal and bolted for it. If she could get that gun and blow one of the mutant's legs from underneath him, then that would definitely buy her enough time to think of some strategy! She could move, her pain was gone, adrenaline pumped through her veins. It was close, so close... she ignored any and all shouts from the maddened monster, now definitely on her heels – if she stopped, even for one instant, then he'd reach her and break her neck with a single backhander, feast on her corpse... and the old man would _live_. No, no, no, she needed that gun! She was so close! So close, so close, so close so close soclosesoclose-

She tripped.

Her foot caught in something soft, and she crashed down onto the flooring. Her jaw snapped down onto her tongue, drawing blood. Her teeth rattled with the impact, but she immediately twisted around like a snake to see the mutant leaping over the obstacle.

"Argonian-"

"_DIE!_"

That single moment stretched out to a subjective eternity, allowing her to stare at the massive sole of his bare foot loom over her chest. She didn't do something now, she was dead. He was going to stomp down on her ribcage and smash her flat. He would probably do a little dance on her, squash her like a cockroach, turn her into a fine and faintly magical red paste to be presented to his Master in victory.

Frightened, her heart beating like a drum, she poured her final spark of magic in a last-ditch attempt at a telekinesis spell. She didn't even close her hands to cast it. She only shoved his foot back with all of her strength, physical and arcane.

It worked better than intended. Dog jumped back and nearly fell; he regained his balance, staggering backwards several paces, arms spread out like a child walking on a rope. His enormous feet slapped against the tiles on the floor with a noise like thunderclap, again and again and-

_Crack._

A chill ran down Screaming-Eagle's spine. That... those weren't tiles. Those sounded more like _bones_. She sat up, shuddering like a leaf, and saw blood spurt from the mutant's ankles. He kept on stomping down to recover, dragged the same thing she'd tripped over with him, the steps now accompanied by sickening crunches, snaps, and squirts of scarlet. He didn't seem to notice in his rage, he simply took hold of the wall and fountain, ripped chunks out of them, and marched towards her once and for all.

"YOUR MAGIC USELESS, VOICE SHUT UP NOW!" Dog guffawed in her face, his features distorted into cruel glee. He accentuated each syllable with gusto, savoring the moment he would finally crush her. "YOU DEAD!"

She blinked twice.

Then she tittered.

It wasn't long before she started laughing out loud. She sagged back down in relief, slumped on the ground and held her belly before it burst. She couldn't help it, it was all so ridiculous! Fuck her, this was so... unexpected, she almost couldn't believe it – but it _had_ happened! There it was, right in front of her, nobody could deny it was all real! She kept on chortling hysterically, eyes closed shut to stop the tears.

"WHAT?!" He snarled, enraged once again. "WHY LAUGH?! YOU DIE NOW! YOU HURT MASTER!"

Screaming-Eagle forced herself to adopt some form of composure. She let the latest of her giggles die down, climbed to her feet with the aid of the nearby fountain, and grinned at his confusion. Her stance wasn't steady, even though her body had recovered, her mind didn't feel so clear. She couldn't close her hands all too well; something her magic hadn't worked on, focused as it was on potentially lethal wounds, or maybe she'd unconsciously used them to block her fall. Still, she spat out the blood welling up in her mouth, and gave him the same knowing smile. Before he popped a vein trying to understand what she was getting at, she pointed a finger towards the amorphous, gory bundle by his feet. "Are you sure I'm the one who hurt him?"

The mutant's puzzlement didn't fade until he glanced down. At that exact moment it turned to blankness, as though he couldn't believe what he had just done. Then despair flooded him: he wailed like a terrified child, fell to his knees, gripped at his skull as if to rip off chunks of his own flesh in absence of hair. He pulled up the gruesome mass of shattered bones and ruptured organs wrapped in once-blue robes in an embrace, rocking back and forth as realization tore at his soul. Dog bawled and cried inconsolably as red drops trickled down his forearms, on his chest, to the ground. He held the mangled corpse closer like a newborn baby. The broken neck and the head it was attached to dangled from his shoulder, strands of silvery beard and hair caressing him as if in comfort.

"Oh, the irony!" Screaming-Eagle snickered. She hacked a gobble of spit and blood in Elijah's motionless face, his jaw hanging limp at an impossible width, and circled the two until she was face to face with Dog. She smiled impishly, and pinched the mutant's cheek like the aunt she hated so much used to do with her horn. This was just the perfect occasion to copy that gesture. "What's the matter, huh?"

Dog let the corpse fall to her feet and bowed his head, hiding his face in shame. He buried it in his palms and shook violently with sobs, whining like a beaten dog. Pathetic son of a bitch, yet... she somehow felt sorry for him. He wasn't cunning, nor bright, he was a... he had the cognitive abilities of a little boy, after all. An ugly and brutal demon if she'd ever seen one, and a terrifying opponent to be faced with, but with the mind of a (rather evil) little boy nonetheless. "Master... Dog... _Dog sorry, Master..._"

"Don't worry, come on, come on..." She reassured him. She wiped the tears from his eyes before her hands came to rest on the back of his head, thumbs on his ears. She gave him a comforting, almost motherly look. "I've got something to tell you, Dog. Something from Master."

The mutant's tangerine eye sparkled with hope. He stared at her expectantly, almost twisted his misshapen face into a beam. "You... Master say something for Dog?"

The smile drained from her face. Her eyes narrowed to tiny slits, her lips peeling back to reveal her fangs.

"GET BACK IN THE FUCKING CAGE!"

Screaming-Eagle arched her back and smashed the crown of her head into his nose.

The force of the blow shook her from the base of her horns to the tips of her toes. The Nightkin swooned comically and dropped back like a cut down tree. She let out a sharp hiss, pressing down with both of her hands on the top of her head, leaning hard against the wall for support. Aw, gods-dammit, she had no idea his face was that hard!

Habit dictated she cast a simple Restoration spell on her forehead to stop feeling any unpleasantness; common sense reminded her that the potion's effects must have run out and, considering what Destruction could do to her in a Cloud-tainted environment, it strongly suggested she avoided finding out the surprises something like reversed healing could have on her. She was nobody to contradict that little voice in her head that had saved her life on multiple occasions, and thus decided to power through both the painful pulsing under her feathers and the headache that was about to ensue.

Once again, Screaming-Eagle sat down on the rim of the fountain and let out an exhausted sigh. The scenery had changed since she'd stepped inside, some... ten or fifteen minutes ago. The mosaic she'd been slammed into was ruined; tiles had fallen off from an oval about as large as her back. The fountain itself, as well as its surroundings, was now spattered with blood, and a piece or two of plaster had gone missing. Well, they had ruined the place even before the Cloud could kick in... all in all, what mattered was the fact she could still breathe.

Okay, that had been... something. A quick look to the gored corpse and the collapsed super mutant brought forth a grim chuckle. Fuck, the old man was _dead_, that was a relief... no more mortal threat, no more being ordered around, no more staying with that band of psychopaths. Justice had been done. She had no idea how long it had been, maybe a day, maybe more than that... too much in any case. What a fucking nightmare. It didn't matter where she was now, she would come back and she would see the Lucky 38 again. This meant... oh, she was finally free to return to her own, bigger band of psychopaths. The one she was kinda proud to be a part of.

Not that any of them would know it, of course.

* * *

A low, bleary groan distracted her. She saw the Nightkin trace his fingers over his scarred scalp and sit up, dazedly looking all around – up until his eyes met the old man's glassy ones. He went stiff at once. He poked at the cadaver's forehead with his big toe, did so again, and then kicked the head away and barked a laugh. More bones cracked, much to her disgust.

"Finally, it is done!" The super mutant breathed out. "The Old Man is dead, by my _hand_, and Dog is finally... he is..."

"Gone?" She offered with a raised brow. She massaged at growing goose egg she had earned, wincing. "I did hit you pretty hard..."

"Oh, no, not gone, he is merely... asleep." He explained. For the first time since she had met him, he _almost _smiled. Not a malicious grin, not a sneer, not a grimace, not a childish beam – a _smile_. As far as those mangled lips and his attitude allowed him to smile, anyway. "I will never be free from his presence, he yet lingers in my mind... however, now he is quiet, trapped in his cage until I say otherwise." Then he had to ruin it all with a lopsided, superior smirk. "And even though I shall not question its effectiveness, your chosen method was... _weak_."

"Go fuck yourself." Screaming-Eagle huffed and waved him off, causing him to snicker some more. "I save your life, get rid of your other personality, and you have the gall to tell me I was _weak_? You don't even thank me?"

"Thank you? And why should I?" The Nightkin inquired, heavy brows furrowed deeply and thick arms folded on his chest. "I have saved your life time and again, yet _you_ never expressed a word of gratitude, a... 'thank you'." He snorted, going back to his usual self already. "Saving me back was the least you could do, Argonian."

She scowled at him, hard, and her lips twisted in a grimace. "Are you _serious_, mutant? I could have easily shot your legs off to make my life easier, and I did not!" She growled. "I'm not asking you for gratitude, I _pretend_ you show me some!"

"Let me reiterate that: you have never given me any reason to." He enunciated, slowly and carefully so that she would listen to each and every syllable. "I acknowledge the fact you have safeguarded the essence of my being, yet you have never done so when it came to _me _helping _you_: not when I found you ammunition for your weapon to defend yourself, not when I stopped you from stepping on a landmine, not when I explained to you how to face a hologram... not even when I hauled you out of the concentrated Cloud." He shook his head. "Not that I expected you to, of course. You are far too... _proud_ to understand that. And not that I care, to be honest, words are just... words. But remember, Argonian, even they have a weight."

Screaming-Eagle ground her teeth together. She was ready to vent all of her anger out on him, but then... then what? What could she tell him that would change his mind? She had saved him! What worth were the other things he had done for her, when she had decided he was worthy of living in her eyes? Were all of those actions as important as, or even more than her favor?

Well, technically...

She clenched her jaw, looked away, and sniffed. Technically _yes_, they were, and she was _never_ going to admit it to that gloating son of a bitch. That resolution certainly didn't stop him from laughing – if anything, it made her shame burn even hotter – but she held true to it nonetheless. She couldn't admit the fact she was wrong, simply because she never _was_! Who did that fucker think he was laughing at? She never made a mistake, _never_! Her every choice had set her on the path to greatness and glory, she had become the greatest mage of the Fourth Era, she had been chosen by the Gods to be Dragonborn! She was _always_ right.

Was that why she'd ended up in the Sierra Madre in the first place?

She refrained from whining in frustration like a petulant child. Divines, she hated proving other people right. With their... stupid opinions that turned out to be... hngh. Asshole. Okay, maybe she _did_ miscalculate a few things every once in a while, but what then? Everyone made mistakes... gods-dammit, that was exactly the problem, _everyone_ did. She wasn't just anyone, she was Screaming-Eagle, Dragonborn, Archmage of Winterhold, Legate of the Imperial Legion, Champion of... oh, come on, did it really matter _who_ she was the champion of? She was a Champion, end of story. Those titles she had earned, they were all to her, they _were_ her. Nobody fucked with her because she was better, smarter, stronger than anyone else around her.

The collar around her neck suddenly felt very, very tight. It... none of that had mattered. All it had taken was being in the wrong place at the wrong time for the wrong reason. Archmage or no, Dragonborn or no, her status and magic had meant jackshit in the Sierra Madre. She had been – and still was – just that, _mortal_. What had happened to an old bastard, a super mutant, a mute woman, a centuries-old singer... it had happened to her, too.

Oh no, she wouldn't be swayed so easily. True, she had fallen to her knees, but she had gotten back up, all- no, not all alone. The mutant was right, he had been instrumental in keeping her alive, and Twelve's presence had sort of helped her. Even Dean Domino had been of some use with his damnable mixture... by Oblivion, she wouldn't even be here weren't it for the smug bastard. She'd still be toting them around the Villa to their assigned locations, or reaching her own place to trigger the Gala. She... couldn't have done it alone. Probably. Maybe, if she had made an attempt to... oh, Gods, no, if Magicka retorted against her that badly, she didn't even want to think about how her Thu'um might react in the caustic environment. Just a stroke of luck she hadn't thought about Shouting up until now...

_Whatever. _She had no intention of going over her ways of life, mostly because she either regretted nothing of what she had done or regretted a few aspects far too much. Now was now, not the past. The past could be argued about over a goblet of good wine and a tray of warm food – or cold, too, depending on the recipe. Now was the time to go home, but... how? Gah, she hadn't thought this through long enough, _of course_. Teleportation magic? Fuck that, not a chance, she was bad at it already, no need to try it here of all places. She liked her limbs attached to her body. Walking? Gladly, if she even had the faintest idea _where _the Sierra Madre was in the world. Riding? Better, but she didn't want to risk botching Arvak's summoning with the Cloud. What other alternatives did she have... think, think, think...

A thumb and a forefinger big as pistol barrels snapped just before her snout, producing a sound not too dissimilar from small arms fire. The large hand of the mutant snatched her attention; covered in blood though it may now be, she could easily imagine its unnatural, blue-gray hue. Huh, that reminded her of something... big enough to crumple her skull, closed in a fist, vague...

Oh, _motherfucker_.

"Argonian?" The Nightkin called her, curious. "Did my words truly affect you so deeply, or-"

Screaming-Eagle jabbed a finger into his nose, barely containing her excitement. And anger, for that matter. "_You. _You carried me here, didn't you?"

He sighed, swatted her finger away from his nostril and pressed a palm against his face. "No, it was not me... it was Dog. Remember the Old Man used him, not me, to-"

"Same thing!" She interrupted him, jumping to her feet. She couldn't hold back a half-growled giggle. "You know the way back to the Mojave, don't you?"

"I... suppose I do, Dog has walked that path so many times I have... wait." He trailed off. His horrible features scrunched up into a frown. "Let me guess, you want me to take you back, and have no way to repay me other than... what, binding me to your word? Brandishing the Old Man's death as your sword, forcing me to do your bidding one last time? Even though only know am I starting to feel the full extent of my wounds and hunger?"

"And you're totally going to repeat your whole speech about gratitude, what you've already done for me and all that, and the fact you're certain I can't change because I won't thank you despite you not giving a shit." Screaming-Eagle said with a roll of her eyes and a flick of her wrist. "Mutant, you... have been of... great help and all, and... and well, I..." She snorted to give herself the courage. "Look, I... gods-dammit, 'thank you'. There, I said it. I hope you get distracted thinking about my thanks one day and fall off a fucking cliff. Happy? Now I need you to take me back home."

The Nightkin considered her words with great attention and seriousness – she was certain he was choking down laughter. In the end, he allowed a chuckle to escape him, and hummed it down as though it had never happened. "What about the treasure of the Sierra Madre? Are you not interested in the promise of riches, of wealth and-"

"Fuck you and fuck your treasure, I've got gold coins coming out of my hearing canals!" She snarled, beginning to lose her patience. She wasn't afraid to headbutt him again, if need be - then she'd like to hear him call her 'weak' again. "I don't want to see this shithole ever again in my life, and you ask me if I want to waste any more time here, looking for money that might not even _be_ there?"

The mutant cracked a hideous grin. He hauled himself to his feet, an imposing figure as always, and nodded approvingly. "You never fail to amuse me, Argonian. Yes, just for your ability to make me laugh... I might do you one last favor and ignore my conditions." He jerked a thumb towards the entrance. "What will become of them, though?"

Screaming-Eagle craned her neck to better look at the sleeping forms of Dean Domino and Twelve. The woman had done nothing against her, yet she hadn't struck her as particularly interesting either... had she been able to talk, that would have been a different story. The ghoul...

That son of a whore had humiliated her, tried to turn her into his own little puppet like the old man, and had then begged at her feet like the worm he was once he had realized she could annihilate him. And he'd fucking ruined 'Ain't That a Kick in the Head' by Dean Martin, to boot. Oh, she wanted him dead, so, _so_ dead, yet... it wasn't a good idea to kill him just now, while they all had the collars on them. And loath though she was to admit it, he'd probably played a bigger part in all this than the super mutant and the mute together. Granted, she had forced him to do so, and the fact his mysterious cocktail of dubious provenance had magical properties was purely accidental, yet...

"Get them both out of here, if you can." She told the mutant, glancing away. Maybe not looking at the dilemma might make it easier to solve it. "Take the collars off of all of us at your earliest convenience, and bring us to the Mojave – leave us as far from each other as you can." She paused for an instant, glanced over her shoulder to the singer's sleeping figure. A corner of her mouth curled in a sneer, revealing the fangs underneath. "But I won't forget his little prank so easily. Break his legs... but only when he wakes up. Hear him scream for me."

"I like the way you think, Argonian..." The mutant cooed his pleasure at her decision. He went over to the two and, awkwardly though he moved, slung both of them over his shoulder as though they were nothing but small bags. As she walked up next to him, he turned his only good eye on her. "The time you spent down below while we waited, the thunder, the lack of inhabitants here... did you do anything?"

"Oh, nothing, I just placed a few dozen runes here and there." Screaming-Eagle dismissed him with a casual shrug. She pulled the exit open, and immediately started coughing when the toxic mist came in. "They're... magic landmines, basically. Large circles inscribed with small Daedric letters, they glow either red or blue. Make sure to keep at least five feet away from them..." She cleared her throat again. "Don't worry, I'll lead you down the stairs, just make sure you step where I do if there's any left and you should be alright. Once we're out of the Villa, you take the lead."

"Of course, of course..." He nodded as they crossed the entry courtyard, past the benches, vases and dead trees, under the crimson skies and the blanketed sun. "You do know this place must remain a secret, right? We cannot allow any more humans in here... another old man might appear, start over from scratch what we have only just stopped... or perhaps a great army may march through the gates of the Villa, seeking the technologies and treasures hidden in the heart of the Sierra Madre..."

"Yeah, whatever, I have no intention of coming back to this place any time soon." She reassured him, amused at the thought of anyone being stupid enough to actually _want_ to reach the Sierra Madre. "Trust me, nobody will know how to get here."

"On that I trust you, that is certain." The Nightkin confirmed. "I will personally make sure of that, Screaming-Eagle."

Screaming-Eagle blinked at that, turning towards him. "What do you mean you will-"

Before she could complete the sentence, a gray-blue fist the size of her head crashed into her snout.


	39. Hope Rewarded

Cold. It was... cold.

Screaming-Eagle groaned the moment she realized she'd regained consciousness. The noise echoed faintly all around her, adding to the headache pounding away into her brains. Ugh, Gods, she felt _awful_. Her head hurt, her hands burned, her snout and jaw were killing her – in short, her _everything _was experiencing pain of one degree or the other. All of her muscles had gone stiff, her bones and joints even more so. Oh, she was all one big ball of hurt, curled up on the coldest and most uncomfortable floor she'd ever had the disgrace to lie on, and...

Wait a second, where was she?

In her mind, she envisioned herself springing to her feet, eyes scanning her surroundings and fingers curling, ready to cast her most devastating spells at a moment's notice. In truth, however, she sluggishly pulled herself into a sitting position, and blinked several times to get her eyes to focus. Considering how she kept on seeing black after well over a minute, she figured she'd either gone blind, or it was damn dark in there. Besides, the air had... something odd to it. She sniffled for a while, just to try and understand what it was that she was smelling, when the thought struck her.

Nothing. Nothing save for dust and stale air, and... that was _exactly _the point. There was no Cloud. This wasn't the Sierra Madre. She tentatively reached for her neck, and only found her scales to greet her. The collar was _gone_.

She let out a moan; this time, of relief. She could finally breathe _freely_... use her magic! She didn't even wait for confirmation, she spread her arms out wide and focused on each and every wound afflicting her body and mind.

With a faint exertion of her will, tendrils of golden light coiled around her hands, snaking their way over her limbs. Her aches vanished at once, soothed by the ethereal balm she called forth. The faint glow of Restoration uncovered glimpses of the metal surfaces around her, of the open door ahead, of the sodden jumpsuit and boots on her. Once the spell had run out of suffering to ease, she already felt much, much lighter, both in body and spirit. There were so many things she wanted to ask herself right now, but first things first: she needed to see where she was.

So she effortlessly conjured a tiny ball of the purest white light, allowing it to hover just above her hand and unveil her surroundings. A thick carpet of disturbed dust coated the metal floor, cobwebs hung from the steel ceiling and walls. The doorframe before her lay wide open, revealing the corridor beyond and the stillness of its shadows. Glancing over her shoulder, she recognized the upturned table and the shattered radio, the cables connecting to various pieces of machinery... now all destroyed, thrown to the ground, the wiring torn out and the indicators burst. Yes, this had to be that damned bunker, so this meant she...

Oh, Divines, she really was in the Mojave again.

She was about to stand up and leap out of the door in delight, when she eyed the row of items laid out in front of her. One was quite large, a broad square of gray cloth and fur, while next to it was a small pile of leather and horns, and farther to the right was a rod of black wood, tipped with crystals and chains and-

Screaming-Eagle threw her head back and laughed. Oh, that Nightkin bastard had knocked her out with one punch, but she might just forgive him for that. There they were, all of her belongings, perfectly arranged so that she would find them as soon as she woke up. Her robes, her satchels and horns, her _staff_... she wiped a tear from her eye. Damn bastard had kept his word, and he'd done so much more than what she had asked of him. She would thank him if she ever saw him again... not before having headbutted his ugly nose as hard as she could, of course.

Still grinning, she kicked the stained boots away, and was answered by two loud clangs when they flew into a wall. She unzipped her once-gray jumpsuit, now caked with dried blood and gore, Cloud residue and mud, and wriggled out of it. She was about to unclasp the Pip-Boy from her forearm and leave it there, yet thought better of it. Might come in handy later. She slipped into her underwear with little difficulty, then into her pants and the top of her Archmage's robes – whose left sleeve was broad enough to accommodate the device on her arm without being ripped apart – and her own boots. _At last!_ True, heavy as Oblivion under the desert's sun, but... ah, who cared, everything was all so _soft_! The wolf furs, the wool, the linen, the elk leather... the complete opposite of rough cotton and rubber. Moreover, these clothes were _hers_, gifted to her as a badge of office after the death of Archmage Savos Aren. They weren't some prisoner's uniform put on her along with an explosive collar, these were her garments, and she'd be damned if she ever lost them again.

After the robes had been fitted, she bent over and picked the tangled mass of satchels and horns, all rigorously and magically adapted to her needs. She had to work a while with all the straps before they eventually came free. After having dealt with that, she prepared to arrange them in the right order... more or less. She'd have to look for the specific ones once they were on and she was somewhere safer. One satchel for potions, the other for scrolls, the third for personal effects, and the fourth for curios; then a horn for ingredients, another for soul gems, another yet for a various assortment of enchanted rings and circlets, and finally the one for money, precious stones and valuable metals. Happy with the knowledge everything hung and clinked together all over her, she smiled at the last item.

She embraced her staff like a long lost friend. She knew it was stupid, it was simply an inanimate object, yet... it was her staff. _Hers._ It had been in her possession ever since she was little, carved, polished and decorated all by herself – with some help from her dear nanny when she'd nearly cut her finger off. It had always accompanied her, it had always been there to focus and amplify her powers, to work in tune with the lost Yokudan magic she enjoyed using so much. Holding it back in her hands, she couldn't help but giggle like a child. Ah, now she truly felt complete!

She didn't wait another moment to set out into the dark hallway, the rays of her miniature star piercing through the curtain of darkness with casual ease. She ignored the open door to her right, uncaring of what other secrets the laboratory might hold in light of the recent events, and marched on. Silent and isolated place or no, she was never going to come back here, that much was sure.

Further up the stairs was the true exit, hatch, ladder and all, maybe... nah, she'd wasted so much time carving a way in, she might as well use the door she had made. So she took a turn to the right and was met with the hole in the fake cave wall. Pitch black out there, too. It must have been night outside.

A chilly breeze blew against her the moment she stepped out, into the small grotto and then into the ravine. She pulled her hood up and kept on striding, inebriated by the fresh air. She didn't even need her staff to walk anymore, she was perfectly capable of standing on two legs even without her tail... which, then again, made a lot of sense. True, a major imbalance in the beginning, yet humans walked and ran just fine for virtue of being born without one. They could even swim, and rather well at that. A temporary inconvenience for her, and perhaps a permanent stigma when she found a way back to Tamriel... pfft, and so what? The Argonians back there could keep their mud huts, leaf skirts and poisoned spears, she had proven to be so much better than them time and time again. That was a problem for later.

What was she going to do _now_?

Once she'd gotten out of the ravine and into the uneven hills and sands of the desert proper, the question sounded so stupid she wanted to kick herself. As if there had ever been a doubt about that... she had to go back home. Not Skyrim, unfortunately, no – but the Lucky 38 came pretty close to that now, didn't it? Sure, those idiots could be a massive nuisance most of the time, yet... they were _her_ idiots. All of them. Save for Naeera, of course, that whore was dead if she ever crossed her again. Aside from that unpleasant parenthesis, the feeling was sincere towards everyone else. Phoenix, Veronica, Eyes-Of-Silver, little Maria, Keram-Rei...

"GODS-FUCKING-DAMMIT!"

Screaming-Eagle flinched at the sudden outburst, head snapping around like a bird of prey's. Hard to tell where the source of the voice was. It couldn't be too far, this guy wasn't screaming at the top of his lungs. She couldn't deny he sounded... familiar, either. Deciding she was better safe than sorry, she crouched down low to present as small a target as possible. Being curious as she was, however, she began to slink towards the vague direction of this infuriated man. His tone definitely had a well-known timbre...

"FOUR DAYS INTO THIS FUCKING DESERT, AND I'VE COME UP WITH NOTHING!" The man raged on. The closer she got to him, using the uneven rocks as cover, the more clearly she heard him restlessly stomp around. He caused an ungodly racket, too, so that meant he was clad in a number of plates that clattered together with each step he took. "NO TRACE, NO PROOF, NO _NOTHING_! GONE, JUST _GONE_! FOUR FUCKING DAYS, IT'S UN-FUCKING-BELIEVABLE! NOTHING'S RIGHT ON THIS GODS-DAMN MAP! IT'S SUPPOSED TO BE HERE, AND THAT HATCH IS FUCKING CLOSED _SHUT_!"

Okay, unsafe though it may be for anyone to throw a temper tantrum in the middle of the desert, where all sorts of predators wandered in search of prey and he presented such a juicy and noisy feast, she had to give it to the man: he _did_ sound desperate. Furious beyond words, and tossing things around if the noises between the pauses in his shouting were any indicator, but desperate nonetheless. Maybe she could take a look from the safety of the tall boulder she hid behind and see... sounded like he was just beyond that. So she carefully pressed herself flat against it, peeked over the edge, and-

_Clunk!_

Screaming-Eagle fell flat on her back with an undignified yell, both hands clasped around her nostrils; she regretted it a moment later with a squeak. Ow, ow, _ow_! That _hurt_! She blinked the stars and tears away from her eyes, and glanced to the side, just to see _what _had hit her... and fucking Akatosh, _really_? Who in the name of _fuck_ went around going berserk and throwing his damn _shotgun_ in a fit? Ouch, _shit_. Ow.

Snorting blood, she quickly healed her abused snout and snarled. "WHAT THE FUCK WERE YOU THINKING?!"

"WHAT THE FUCK WERE _YOU_ THINKING?!" The man retorted, audibly turning in her direction. Let him come, she'd have a nice surprise for him in the shape of a staff down his throat. "YOU'RE SUPPOSED TO STEER CLEAR OF ANYONE SCREAMING IN THE MIDDLE OF THE GODS-DAMN DESERT, IT USUALLY MEANS THEY'RE INSANE! NOT MY FAULT YOU SNEAKED UP ON ME BECAUSE YOU'RE A FUCKING IDIOT!"

"YOU KEEP ON TALKING LIKE THAT, YOU'RE GONNA BE FUCKING DEAD!" She roared, hauling herself to her feet and scrambling to get her staff back. Oh, she was ready for this fucker, random stranger or no. She'd beaten the shit out of an old man, she wasn't about to pull stops after that. "YOU'VE GOT NO IDEA WHAT I'VE BEEN THROUGH, MOTHERFUCKER! I'M GONNA SMASH YOU FLAT!"

"YEAH, SURE, GO FOR IT!" He goaded her, coming to a stop, if the lack of clattering was anything to go by. "I'D LIKE TO SEE YOU TRY, BITCH!"

That was the last _straw_ – nobody called her a lizard, but most of all, nobody called her a _bitch_! She gripped at her staff as though it were his throat, let out a wordless cry, and stalked past the obstacle between him and the bastard.

She found him with his arms spread out in a mocking welcome. The reason why he was making all that noise in the first place was the suit of armor he wore: its ice blue plates were rimmed with steel, a layer of dark leather and fur underneath. A sword sheath hung from his hip, while at the other was a brown satchel. His green tail swung around nervously, his lips peeled back to show white fangs; his scarlet feathers bristled, his deep blue eyes narrowed to icy slits.

Keram-Rei's attitude evaporated in an instant. His arms fell limp down his sides, along with his jaw.

Screaming-Eagle tried to swallow down the sudden lump in her throat, but to no avail. She was still going to make him pay for having thrown his shotgun at her, yet... she wiped at her eyes with her sleeve. Gods-dammit, why was her sight going so blurry? She was supposed to have some dignity left in her, she never cried in front of anyone, this would _not_ be the first time this happened... yet she'd missed him, and now... now there he was, being the helpless idiot he always was whenever she wasn't around to hold his hand through things. Maybe he'd been risking his life and sanity looking for her, he'd shouted it had been four days, and... and...

"Gods, I... I hate you, Keram-Rei!" She tried to yell, forcing her emotion down through anger; her voice cracked halfway through. "I'm back for five minutes, and... and we're already fighting!" She turned away the moment she felt the first tear drop. "You... you're a fucking idiot!"

She fought down the tears of joy that came with the words. Crying was for the weak, she... she couldn't let him see she was weak. A crying female couldn't hope to intimidate anyone, to be respected by anyone; she could only display her rage, or her unnatural cool, not... not tears. Nobody was going to take her seriously if word came out she had been mewling and whimpering like a small child. She had to get her breathing in check. Inhale, exhale, and-

A pair of arms enveloped her shoulders.

All of her efforts went wasted in the span of a second. Oh, fuck all of that, this was _Keram-Rei _she was talking about! She had no need to act all tough with him. He wasn't concerned with her titles, or her reputation, or her lack or tail, or her... her _whatever_, he only cared about the fact that she was well, and herself.

She twisted around in his grip and threw her arms around his neck, fast as a viper. Before he could react, she rested her head on his shoulder and let out a liberating sob. He was real, he was there and, most important of all, he was there _for her_, she could _feel_ it. He was far too stubborn and too much of an idiot to be out there in the desert, at night, for any other reason... Gods, the way he'd been shouting, he'd sounded like he was losing his mind... fuck, this was all her fault! She had lost her patience, and now this was the result. She should have known the lengths he would go for her, she... she...

"I-I'm sorry!" Screaming-Eagle blurted out, doing her damnedest to heed her pride and at least speak decently. Her heart was hammering so loud against that weight in her chest, her blood roared in her eardrums, her eyes had gone so tearful she couldn't even see straight. How could she tell him what she had endured, the horrors of being stripped of her magic, what she had done, how much she had enjoyed inflicting pain? Words failed her even before she spoke. She held him tighter and sobbed loudly, the only sound she managed to make. "I... Gods, I'm sorry!"

"Oh, ah- hey." Keram-Rei mumbled softly into her ear. She allowed him to interrupt her, to pat his hand on her back, to run his gentle fingers through her feathers. She could have melted away in his hands that way, she had needed contact with someone close to her so, so _much_."Err... come on, Eagle, you... y-you don't have to be..."

His faint stutter and confusion should have reassured her, amused her, but they only made her feel _worse_. Gods-dammit, this... this wasn't right! She had said so many awful things to everyone when she'd decided to run off, they... they should have hated her, Keram-Rei above all! She raked her fingers over his backplate, clutched at the joints as though he could slip away any second now, almost to make sure he was real. She'd have killed anyone who might have acted like her that day, and... and he was there, hugging her... _shit_. She... she never acted like this, so... emotional. This wasn't normal. Why wasn't she angrier? She should have been... "I've missed you so much..."

"I-I've... missed you too, Eagle." He stammered comfortingly. He never raised his voice over a murmur, he didn't have to. He chuckled; that sounded so kind when compared to the mutant, or the ghoul, or the old man... "Y-y'know... everyone missed you. W-we... we got a team together, to look for you... Eyes-Of-Silver with that monster of his, a-and Phoenix came along with this tribal boy, said there was this guy who could help, and..."

"Stop it!" Screaming-Eagle all but ordered him. The intention was sort of muddled up by her tears and the little choked whine she made at the end. She... so many people had come for her, she... Divines. "Dammit, Keram-Rei, I'm trying to stop crying here, you... you're not helping..."

"Ah, gotcha." Keram-Rei clacked his tongue awkwardly. "Uh... sorry."

Sorry? Was he really saying he was _sorry_? Hngh, she would have punched him for that any other day, but... she couldn't. She would have to let go of him if she wanted to hit him, and right now, she hadn't the slightest intention of doing so. She could go on like this forever. The air was clean, she had no collar on her, there was nobody in sight, and she was alone with the person she... well, she-

"Bloody Oblivion, I cannot believe it! _Screaming-Eagle!_"

Screaming-Eagle pushed herself away from Keram-Rei, elbowed him in the breastplate's sternum and instantly stepped back. She coughed any hint of phlegm out of her throat and into the ground, wiping her tears away in one fluid motion. Going for her staff and leaving a rather confused battlemage hugging the air before him, she presented the thunderous bass far to her right with a mostly honest smile. Whew, that had been close. Keram-Rei was one thing, but _him_...

Eyes-Of-Silver advanced with what had to be the friendliest and most amiable beam she had ever seen on him, arms spread out in a gesture of welcome. His ebony limb was working again, it seemed, even though his armor hadn't improved one bit since the night he'd made her lose it. If possible, even _less_ Dragonbone was left there, the underlying ebony frame clearly visible along with most of his scars and his impressive muscles. To his back were strapped his twin axes, as what appeared to be the flamethrower he... yes, his trophy from the Fiend leader.

Her smile became entirely false when she spotted the hulking _thing_ at his side. She had seen transformed werewolves much smaller than that beast, that... massive reptile, its viscid scales the same shade of satin snow as its master's. Gods, was it ugly. It stared at her with milky white eyes, its horns curved over its misshapen skull, its knife-sharp teeth lodged seemingly at random into its horrible mouth. The creature was hunched over and yet a little taller than him, prowling forwards on its monstrous hind legs, the front paws never touching the ground. They reminded her of arms, if arms could be as thick as tree trunks and hands could end with talons as long as swords. This... this had to be the monster Keram-Rei had mentioned. A deathclaw, Eyes-Of-Silver had called it days ago. Well, the name was... fitting, she supposed.

"As I live and breathe!" The massive werewolf exclaimed once he was just a few feet from her. His 'pet' tried to casually close in, but he gripped it by the horn and jerked its head back, ignoring its annoyed caw. "Screaming-Eagle! Oh, we have been looking for you far and wide through the desert! And now here you are, safe and sound, engaged as you were with Keram-Rei in..." He frowned, as though he had just now realized something. "Pardon me, did I interrupt something?"

"_Nope, nothing._" Screaming-Eagle and Keram-Rei deadpanned in unison, the embarrassment all but forgotten. She didn't know about him, but she didn't like the way that deathclaw licked its fangs in the slightest. It looked hungry or, worse than that, _curious_. She had the sinking feeling this thing was way smarter than it seemed.

"Your body language and odours tell a rather different tale..." Eyes-Of-Silver grumbled, a scarred brow raised in curiosity, before he shrugged and went back to grinning. "Bah, at any rate, 'tis truly most wonderful to see you back in one piece!"

"Thanks, Eyes-Of-Silver, it's... good to see you, too." Screaming-Eagle snickered nervously, never taking her eyes off of the demon at his side. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the battlemage slowly step between it and herself. That was more than enough to grant her smile a more sincere flavor. Knightly dumbass. She gestured vaguely towards the quiet abomination, careful not to let it pounce and eat her hand. "So that is your, uhm... your _deathclaw_?"

"Ah, yes, quite the majestic predator, is she not?" Eyes-Of-Silver nodded proudly. Oh, so that _thing _was a she? Bigger than a troll, considerably more mirror-shattering... she had yet to see the 'majestic' part in it. Why... why was it staring at her like that, licking its teeth and sniffing the air? It wasn't hungry, was it? There was dried blood on it, maybe it had eaten recently. She hoped so. "She is Sirris, and I do believe she has taken a liking to you." He turned to the thing as though it were a cat, scratching it behind the horns. "Sirris, this is Screaming-Eagle. She is a good friend."

The beast, Sirris, leaned against his hand and _purred_. It or... she... listened intently to his words, and went back to observing the Archmage, unblinking. It gave a series of squawks and grunts in reply to him. That almost sounded like...

"Is that thing trying to say my name?" Screaming-Eagle muttered, unsure as if to be flattered or aghast. She could understand the notion that an apex predator had been tamed by Eyes-Of-Silver, but if that thing was sapient... no, that was bad news,_ terrible_ news. Never could she have imagined deathclaws to reach that level of consciousness, perhaps it was... just like a parrot from Valenwood, only capable of repeating words? No, its dead eyes were far more calculating than a parrot's. "Was... was that my _name_?"

"You haven't heard her try to say mine." Keram-Rei answered. He was obviously as sickened by the idea as she was. His feathers shivered faintly. "She almost gets it right in one go, it's frightening. Like watching a kid learn how to talk, only it's... well, _that_."

"Oh, please, she is not the monster you believe her to be." Eyes-Of-Silver scoffed, arms indignantly folded across his chest as though he had personally been offended by his words. "And yes, that _was _your name, Screaming-Eagle. I am currently attempting to teach her how to converse in English and, as far as I am concerned, she is making excellent progress." He scowled at the looks he received. "What? 'Tis perfectly possible. Her tongue is of the right thickness to allow speech, and her cerebral faculties are great enough to memorize syllables and simple words, perhaps heed orders and tactics. Given enough time, she shall become a valuable addition to our team." He patted the beast on the head. "Come on, Sirris, introduce yourself."

The thing cocked its head to one side at the invitation. Sure enough, it closed its eyes and began to make a sound in the back of its throat. The neck then started to vibrate, and it let out noises more akin to retches than anything else at first, like a cat trying to spit out a hairball. Then...

"**Hiii...** **I aaam... Ssiiirrrrriiissssss...**"

Screaming-Eagle gaped at the beast in shock. That... oh Gods, that wasn't... how could it even... no, fuck, it had no lips, there was no way it could... _Divines_... Kynareth, that thing was horrifying. The way it dragged out the words, how its tongue slithered in its mouth... it had spoken without the faintest hint of emotion or humanity, its tone so low and grating as to make her insides and diaphragm shake...

"Ah-ha, see?" Eyes-Of-Silver gloated, pupils glinting as though those were his daughter's first words. What in the name of all _fuck _was wrong with him? "Is she not incredible?"

Keram-Rei let out a shaking sigh or three. "Let's... let's just head back to base."

* * *

Screaming-Eagle clacked her tongue in indecision and... surprise, she guessed, even though she couldn't say it was exactly a pleasant one. "So... _that_ is the base?"

"Felt the same the first time I saw it." Keram-Rei murmured at her side. "I... look, it's no Castle Dour. They call it Camp Forlorn Hope for a reason."

Well, she had to say those three simple words perfectly summed everything about the outpost. The darkness of the night and the poor light inside of the camp itself made it difficult to see much, perched as it was upon a rocky hill dotted with sharp crags and towering rocks, accessible only through the small beaten path they were trudging on. As for the entrance, well... the rusty old wrecks that formed Camp McCarran's gates were a veritable portal in comparison. If only for the fact those were actually there. What passed for an entry checkpoint here were two piles of sandbags manned by a small squad of rather unconvincing soldiers. There was no wall that she could discern, either – unless the only line of defense was that rusty chain-link fence. She doubted it could keep a pack of dogs at bay, let alone the forces of the Legion.

"Hail!" Eyes-Of-Silver called as they approached, ebony fist raised in salute. Despite the abomination to his right, none of the guards opened fire, oddly enough. That meant they must have... no, nobody could possibly get used to that sight in two days. They had simply... learned not to shoot on sight, yes. "Worry not, this is no mere pack of wild deathclaws, 'tis us."

The sentries muttered to each other. After a moment of confabulation, one of them let out a satisfied grunt and gestured for the others to lower their weapons. Yeah, like _those_ could do anything beside pissing them off. "Good, the Major wants to see you."

"Oh, then we would do well not to keep Major Polatli waiting." The werewolf chortled, marching past the sandbag emplacements with his creature in tow. He looked over his shoulder and motioned for the battlemage and Archmage to come with him. "Let us gather the others and be on our way. The Lucky 38 awaits."

Whatever hesitation Screaming-Eagle might have felt was dispelled at the mention of the Lucky 38. After the hell that had been the Sierra Madre, it was great to be back in the Mojave, and to think about that tower... oh, she could already feel the silk sheets and the eiderdowns. If she could go back to their tower just after they met with this Major... she grabbed Keram-Rei by the arm and dragged him along. She didn't care about the troopers' dazed glances, she just wanted to go home, jump on her bed, and call it a day. The earlier they met this Polatli, the better.

Divines... how long had she been going without proper sleep, anyway? A day? Two? _Four?_ Must have been four. Her Restoration spells had done what they could, true, yet being knocked unconscious hadn't made her feel all that rested to begin with. How was it that she hadn't dropped dead just yet? She needed a bathroom, badly, or... hmph, didn't matter. She had to stay awake just a little while longer, soldier on. And that idiot would do well to move his ass, she had no intention of wasting her time by waiting for him. Okay, maybe wait _a little bit_, but only because it was him.

The battlemage extricated himself from her grip and caught up with her, tittering. He raised a brow in his usual fashion, complete with his characteristic smirk. "Eager to go home?"

"You can't imagine how much." Screaming-Eagle snorted. What could she tell him to make him understand what she had been through? Words weren't enough to describe the shithole that were the Villa and the Sierra Madre, and... well, she didn't really want him to worry too much right now. "I'm going to sleep for a whole day, at least."

"I can get behind that." Keram-Rei nodded approvingly. He mimicked a yawn and stretched theatrically. "Longest four days of my life..."

She allowed herself to giggle at his words; good to see he hadn't changed in the slightest. She had hoped to find him a bit more serious, but... nah, he was better this way. The super mutant had been about as serious as her, and... no, she needed an idiot right now. Well, a cute one, at any rate.

As they went deeper and deeper into Camp Forlorn Hope, she noted Eyes-Of-Silver wasn't taking them through neat rows of barracks and depots. Barely lit by anything other than moonlight or the torches and lamps that hung from sporadic posts, only now did she see that there were very few actual olive drab tents. Most of the... bunks, or storage spaces, or whatever, had been set up inside rusty metal shacks and... hold on, was that a _bus wreck_? Seriously? Bah, no matter what they had told her, this wasn't a real base. It couldn't be one. It had to be a... scavenger camp, or a village with a small NCR presence, nothing more. Where were all the patrols, the fortifications, the training grounds?

Absorbed in her disbelieving thoughts, she almost didn't notice the werewolf slow down to a halt, pull up the flap from the tent straight in front of him, and exhort the deathclaw to go inside. It strolled in with movements that could only be described as haughty, or catlike, or both, followed suit by its proud master.

Before Keram-Rei could do something chivalrous as was his custom and make both of them stand motionless like embarrassed imbeciles for a whole minute, she entered the tent first. Hmm, the inside was not as shabby as the rest of the base: desks, documents, chalkboards, a long table, radio equipment... the command center, for certain. Too big and disorderly for it to be anything else. The people inside, however, she did not recognize. Not all of them were NCR, though, for example one looked like-

"SCREAMING-EAGLE!"

A teenager tackled her, flinging her arms around her shoulders and pinning her in place. The girl, raven black hair flowing and bottle green eyes sparkling, leaned back, pulled her down by the horns, and planted a huge kiss on her forehead.

Screaming-Eagle laughed, hugging the girl tight in return. "Phoenix!"

"Don't you ever run off again!" Phoenix threatened her, her voice muffled by the folds in her robes. That couldn't mask the relief she heard, nor her laughter. "God, I'm so happy you're back and you're okay!"

She didn't reply this time, she simply ruffled the girl's hair and kept on smiling. Out of all the people she had met on this world she could say, without a doubt, that Phoenix had to be the closest thing she had to a friend. Not that the others weren't, of course, just... well, yes, they had been off to a rocky start in the beginning, but after the cave, after Arizona, she... ah, screw it, she was just happy to see her! Why would she need to rationalize the reasons for being a _friend_ of hers? She had missed her, like _almost_ everybody else.

Phoenix let go of her and dragged two people along as if to present them, holding one under each arm. They were both men, and rather young, but while one laughed and smiled and wore only tattoos, a loincloth and a cap, the other's face seemed to be carved out of granite, his eyes shielded behind black lenses (why was he keeping his sunglasses on at night was beyond her). "Screaming-Eagle, these are the people who helped us look for you! They're Follows-Chalk and Boone, and-"

"Can't this _wait_?" A man all but shouted, ending the girl's cheerful presentations with his commanding tone. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw someone who was clearly about to pop a vein glaring at them. "The Legion could make a move and attack us any second now, we don't have time for this!"

Screaming-Eagle barely took notice of the abashed faces made by Phoenix and the tribal (probably the one called Follows-Chalk if his appearance was any indicator), and focused on the one who had issued the order. He glowered at them under bushy graying eyebrows, which were nowhere near as thick as his dark brown mustache. His whiskers, similar to those of a horker, trembled with either annoyance or anger. Hmm, wearing a cleaner uniform than usual, older than most troopers, brave enough to give them orders... she guessed this had to be the commanding officer, Polatli. Behind him a perky redhead stood at attention, a large headset slightly askew over her crimson mane – his assistant, no doubt.

"Are you done? Good." The Major grumbled, brows furrowed and arms folded. "I didn't want you to come here so you could throw a party for your friend, we've got a situation on our hands." He stepped aside, letting the ginger take place at his side. "Reyes, enlighten them."

Screaming-Eagle grimaced. If her experience in Skyrim had taught her something, it was that whenever a military officer was about to go on an explanation about a 'situation', it was usually a polite way to say someone else was supposed to deal with that army's massive problem because their forces were not able to at the moment; in this case, it meant her party.

Come on, _really_? First moment of rest in days, and they wanted her to do something already? She was glad the NCR didn't hate them anymore, but the same couldn't be said about the fact the Republic mistook them for its lackeys. They could sort their own problems, they had the men for the job, why ask her? She wanted to sleep.

"Uh, yes, hello – you must be Screaming-Eagle, right?" The woman, Reyes, began with a nervous snicker and a wave of her hand. "Nice to meet you, I'm Tech Sergeant Reyes, I gave your friends the coordinates to where I thought you might have..." She cleared her throat at the pointed look from the Major. "Anyway, according to the reports we have received from our rangers, the Legion is flocking to Nelson. They're receiving reinforcements and equipment from Arizona as we speak." She grabbed a piece of paper from the nearby table and squinted. "The local garrison has gone from... sixty legionaries, give or take, to well over a hundred and twenty during the last few days. That's twice their original numbers, and more than four times ours."

She closed her eyes and sighed silently. She just knew what he was going to ask of them, she had already served in an army once – as a high-ranking officer, too. The premises were all there, now came the actual order masked as a plea for help. Yes, like the battles for Fort Dunstad, Fort Greenwall, Fort Kastav, Fort Amol... 'Could you please destroy an entire century worth of troops on your own so that we're safe? We're going to give you a medal, a shiny sword, a bag of coins and a sweet roll.'

"Thanks, Reyes." Major Polatli grunted. He gazed at them, somewhat reluctant to ask for their help in particular. "The men currently stationed here, at Camp Forlorn Hope, are twenty-nine. Those that are combat-ready, twenty-four. No matter the supplies you've recovered for us, if the Legion ever decides to attack us, and the bastards will, then... well, we're not going to be able to hold out for long before we're overrun. I know this might seem like much, but... we need your help." He paused for a moment. Now his gaze reminded her of a hopeful puppy. "I've heard reports of what one of you has done in Freeside... how many men she was able to kill in four seconds. You've shown your willingness to help, and I figure you're just as good, if not better, judging by that deathclaw with you. I'd be an idiot not to ask for your assistance. I want you to deal with the Legion forces in Nelson."

Yes, just like Fort Dunstad. _Exactly_ like Fort Dunstad.

Only this time, that wasn't going to happen, not in a thousand years. They couldn't seriously expect to pose that request as an order and just assume she was going to comply. Not to mention, that whore Naeera... fuck, wasn't that gray rat just keeping on giving them problems even when she wasn't there! Of course the Republic had figured something fishy was going on with the four lizard people that had popped out of nowhere and were killing baddies left and right like no tomorrow, and there was one who'd mysteriously massacred a _platoon _in _four seconds_. Idiots, idiots, _idiots_. Hngh, why did she always have to deal with these massive piles of shit caused by the others...

Okay, yes, they could technically wipe the enemy position to a man... and then Polatli would send in reinforcements, or see the Legion bodies for himself, and questions would inevitably arise. He'd put two and two together, and realize magic was involved. The NCR wasn't going to trust them anymore, they had lied straight through their teeth back in McCarran with the bullshit about them being Canadian. If they used any form of magic or Shouts to win the fight, as they would be forced to, then those soldiers would start talking, get high command's attention. No, they... she couldn't afford to ruin the relationships with the NCR _again_.

She wasn't sure if the lives of thirty men were worth keeping a lie believable, but the diplomatic disaster that would ensue, the uproar caused by the discovery of magic... no, she had no idea what the consequences may be in that case, and she didn't want to think about it. This way, the New California Republic would honor its sons and daughters' sacrifices for having resisted the Legion's attack for as long as they could, and that would be it. A tragic tale of Caesar's band of psychopaths pushing West and conquering an outpost of the Republic, nothing new.

Still, the Major needed a believable response. Maybe she could play it on... outrage? Well, yes, he had fucking _commanded_ them to do as he said and assumed they were going to accept, after all. Fuck him, he was nobody to give her orders, were they in the Imperial Legion she'd have probably outranked this... this anorexic walrus.

"You want the _seven _of us to take the fight to an enemy encampment where _more than a hundred_ well-trained and ruthless fanatics are stationed, Major?" Screaming-Eagle bitterly inquired, brow raised in challenge. Both Major Polatli and Sergeant Reyes held her eyes; she snorted in response. "This is a death sentence! I am absolutely certain I'm speaking for everyone here when I say-"

"I shall do it."

Screaming-Eagle slowly turned her head, and was met with Eyes-Of-Silver's grim expression. The deathclaw chirruped and mimicked the gesture. She choked down a howl and tightened her grip on her staff until her knuckles popped. Motherfucker! There went her plan, all thanks to that dog and that wingless dragon of his. It would have been all so perfect, but _no_, of course not! Why let things go her way for once, when he could romp around a Legion base, slicing and mauling everything that moved to satisfy his inner fucking animal? Now everyone was going to be dragged along in this, willing or not.

"Wait, really?" The Major breathed, visibly puzzled. He clearly hadn't been expecting _that _reply – unlike her. "Are you _serious_?"

"Yes, Sirris and I shall take care of Nelson." Eyes-Of-Silver clarified. He opened his mouth ever-so-slightly and licked his teeth. "I have been aching for a true fight for quite a while now... and this appears to be just the perfect occasion, does it not?"

"Sounds good to me." Keram-Rei interjected. Great, him too. He rotated his shoulders and made to amicably punch the werewolf's shoulder. "We're-"

"You are going nowhere, Keram-Rei." Eyes-Of-Silver barked, effectively shutting him up and making the battlemage hide his hand behind his back with a whimper. Okay, now this... she hadn't expected that, what was he getting at? The werewolf made a broad motion with his ebony hand, dismissing him as though he were nothing more than a kid with a wooden sword. "None of you are. You are of no use to me, you would merely get in my way, and that would be a grave mistake. Return to New Vegas, I shall rejoin you in due time." His growl deepened. "This fight is mine and mine alone."

When his eye fell upon her, he gave her the fleetest of winks.

Screaming-Eagle suppressed a smirk. Ah, so the savage bastard wanted the Legion all for himself, huh? Well, she wasn't going to complain about that. Why, that suited their needs just fine. He was big and strong as a deathclaw, he even had one at his side for comparison, so... yes, yes, that was doable. Any victory on his part would be entirely understandable, and would perhaps... hmm, yes, he would become a legend and that would be it, he must be used to it at this rate. Two deathclaws against... well, rusty swords and poorly maintained rifles. And if he turned... nobody would ever know, no. They would attribute the wolf's work to the deathclaw. Yes, this was the best course of action: it would both spare them the trouble of going through another fight, and strengthen the bonds with the NCR once more.

"Good luck, Eyes-Of-Silver." She told him with a solemn nod. It wouldn't be believable if she just waved him off, grinning and giggling. "You'll need it."

"Ha, I need no luck!" He snarled a laugh as he made to exit the tent. "My fury shall suffice. Come, Sirris!"

With that, the two beasts exited the tent. She stared at the dancing flap a moment more, then returned her stare to everyone else's astonishment, from the Major and the Sergeant's gapes, to Phoenix and Follows-Chalk blinks, to Keram-Rei's sulky scowl. Even Boone appeared to be showing some sign of emotion, judging by how he'd lowered his glasses and how far up his eyebrows went.

"Well, that about takes care of that." Phoenix said dryly, punctuating the phrase with an unconvinced chuckle. "Fuck, isn't he scary when he wants to... anyway, that's the Legion's problem now." She rubbed her hands together expectantly, and turned to the Major. "So, speaking of returning to New Vegas, sir... think you NCR folks could give us a lift back home? A truck? A car? A pair of brahmins, anything?"

"Uhm... yeah, I guess." Sergeant Reyes answered in his place; he was too busy massaging his temples in refusal to do so. "We've got one jeep with enough energy cells to get you to... okay, I'd personally stop at Boulder City. It's the least we could do to thank you, but, ah... we've got no driver." She scratched at the back of her head and shrugged. "He... sort of tripped and fell... in a _ravine_... while he was high off chems stolen from the infirmary, so... yeah."

"That's not a problem!" Phoenix reassured the woman, patting on her shoulder as though she weren't a Sergeant of the Army of New California Republic. "I can drive, really. It's all a matter of... pressing the pedals and moving the stick by the seat, and boom, you're on the road. Can't be too hard, right?"

"Forget it." Boone huffed with a shake of his head. "You'll crash at the third turn. I'm driving."

Screaming-Eagle resisted the urge to slump on the nearest chair in relief. Could've been Clavicus Vile Himself driving, so long as she got back home in one piece.


	40. My sincerest apologies

First of all, let me start by saying that I am terribly sorry for the fate of this story. I know there's quite a lot of you who like it - a hundred or so, a number I'd never thought of reaching before. Plus, I'm sure there's some more people who occasionally read it. For all of you out there who might be reading this, well, I'm not sure you're going to like it...

I'm sad to announce you that Dragons of the Mojave is officially discontinued.

There are multiple reasons for this, and none of them can be attributed to anyone save for myself. This fanfiction is far from perfect, or even good, it's... nice at best. It started out without a reason, going on without it for at least a year before I managed to get some semblance of order into it. Now that I had decided to actually rework on it and bring it up to scratch, though, I've realized that, aside from the metric buttload of stupid things and mistakes I have written and made (as some of you have been kind enough to point out) - all fixable - there's _one_ bigger problem.

I have lost all drive to write it.

I've written forty chapters for this story, _forty_, and the direction it has gone is **nowhere**. As for the continuation of the story, what was to come, what my protagonists were to do? Again, I had plans, but I cannot bring myself to put them into form, as most of them would be considered filler material and I would bloody **hate** being stuck writing that sort of stuff. Hell, if I had written this story correctly, it would have probably stopped at the thirty chapters mark - forty, tops. Alas, this thing kept on bloating and bloating, and the only truly interesting parts would have come at around chapter... pfft, what was it, seventy? _Eighty_? No, I cannot bring myself to keep on writing this story. I'm sad for all the joys writing it has given me, and the fact that I do have a few interesting characters that I'm never going to return to, but that's it. It's events... happening... that don't have a connection to each other. And that connection, as stated before, would have appeared far, _far_ too late.

Again, I am terribly, **terribly** sorry for having put you readers on wait with the illusion that I would work on it, fix it, and come back stronger than ever before. It's not happening. I don't have the physical time, and even if I did, I don't have the will to keep on writing this story. I'm not deleting the work of two years, not in a million years, but know that I will not be working on this anymore. I have grown **tired** of it. Am I going to miss writing the characters I know I love? You've got no idea how much. However, I don't want it to become... I don't know, **heartless**. I want to enjoy myself writing, and it hasn't been happening for a while. I'm afraid it might show in the last few chapters, and it might have shown if I had ever decided to continue. I've created something bigger than me, and now I don't know how to handle it. If that seems selfish, I suppose it is. Blame me, I know I am doing just that right now.

If any good writer might be interested in undertaking this titanic feat, I am putting this story up for adoption. Doubt anyone will _ever_ be interested, but hey, you never know. Please contact me if you have any intention on picking it up, I'll send the unlucky soul who does the details - after having read some of their production. Don't want to have the first guy around on this. Aside from that, this is where I stop writing. I'll probably move on to another project, something that does have a precise aim and that won't take up so much of my time and essence to go nowhere. I might have left this thing to rot, and I may have abandoned everyone and everything without a word, but that would have left a bad taste in my mouth. Feels right to make the people who have been reading this for **two years**, or even two _weeks_, know.

This is officially the end for Dragons of the Mojave. I hope you had fun reading it as much as I had writing it.

* * *

**FILTHY LANDLUBBER...  
Dragons of the Mojave  
-Utterly defeated... Discontinued.**


End file.
